


it was just a kiss, I swear

by notamericanmade



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, Taylor Swift (Musician), Young Veins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Divorce, Drinking, Emotional Baggage, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fun, Love, M/M, Music, Nintendo Fusion Tour (2005), No Covid, Oral Sex, Physical Abuse, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, References to Depression, Therapy, Two Shot, antidepressants, can't believe this took me so long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 45,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21862375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notamericanmade/pseuds/notamericanmade
Summary: Life for Brendon Urie has been going pretty OK since he started in the band Panic! At the Disco. He's a queer icon now, married, rolling in royalties, and creating music full-time. Everything seems to be coming up Brendon. But a bout of writer's block, coupled with the comeback of the worst possible kind could derail everything.
Relationships: Linda Ignarro/Spencer Smith, Meagan Camper/Pete Wentz, Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie, Sarah Orzechowski/Brendon Urie, Sarah Orzechowski/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	1. It's beautiful, in the way things are when they've become boring

**Author's Note:**

> Hey this is a work in progress, like/comment if you want me to continue it's basically a product of gross procrastination!
> 
> NOTE: the bits in italics are quotes from interviews, some of the interviews are real some are made up, if you're super dedicated you could find which is which lol

_ 'Yeah, I mean once, I think.'  _

_ 'We mostly did it to see if those stories had anything in them, y’know?'  _

_ *laughing*  _

_ 'Um, I think probably Pete dared us? Right?' _

_ 'Honestly, uh, I don’t really remember, but- but that sounds probable.'  _

_ 'I think he dared us to because there were so many stories out there about, um, about, like, how we’d been pining for years, or whatever, and he, uh, he said the way they always resolved their happy ending was- was that one, one life-changing kiss. So, yeah. I think that’s why.'  _

_ 'And you were a little curious yourselves?'  _

_ 'Uh... If by “curious” you mean “drunk out of our minds” then, yeah, we were curious.'  _

* * *

Panko breadcrumbs. What the fuck are panko breadcrumbs? They have bread at home, why can’t they make their own damned breadcrumbs? He doesn’t even know where that would  _ be _ . Do breadcrumbs get put with the bread or… he can’t think of anywhere else they’d be. Do they count as seasoning? Maybe. 

He checks the rest of the list for something less difficult to find.

Eggs. Eggs he can do. 

He pushes the trolley slowly, trying to prevent it from veering off to one side as they are prone to do. 

Once he’s found everything on the list, he figures it’s time to either ask a shop assistant or go home and pretend the store was out of panko breadcrumbs. Option b is easier, but more dishonest. Option A includes human contact. 

He heads to the checkout. 

He has to move his gym bag out of the way in order to fit the bags in the boot of the car, stupid Spencer asking him to hold onto his squash racket and taking up all the goddamned space. But he manages it and slides into the driver’s seat, adjusting the AC and the radio until he’s comfortable enough to move off homewards. 

Sarah’s in the middle of something when he gets back, or so she calls to him as her excuse not to help him unpack the car. He grumbles a little as he takes a couple trips to get everything inside. 

He doesn’t actually really know where any of the stuff is supposed to go, Sarah rearranges everything approximately once a month when she gets bored of the layout or thinks it looks too cluttered. However, it now means Brendon’s about 6 months behind on the kitchen storage arrangements. He does his best – she asked for a lot of shit and they have a lot of cupboards filled with not particularly much – and congratulates himself with a beer. 

'How was the supermarket? Did you get everything on my list?' Sarah asks, trotting into the kitchen, fiddling with her earring. 

Brendon collapses onto the couch and sips his beer, waggling his sock-clad toes. 

'Everything except panko breadcrumbs,' he replies, 'couldn’t find them anywhere, I think they were out of stock.' 

Sarah leans against the counter to look at him and puts one hand on her hip, making a noise that’s halfway between a scoff and a sigh. 'Well, did you ask one of the employees if they had any in the back? You know they keep stuff there so the stock will last longer and they won’t have to order more.' 

Brendon rolls his eyes, he knows that’s complete shite but they’ve been through this whole spiel before and it’s better for him to just pretend he agrees, 'Yeah asked some kid called Trent. He was very helpful but couldn’t find any in the back either.' 

She doesn’t look convinced but huffs and goes about rearranging all the shopping he’s just unloaded. 

'Are you doing anything today, Brendon? Besides lazing around the house, I mean.' 

He can hear her still shuffling around the kitchen but doesn’t look around, trying to think of something reasonable to respond with. If he says no, he’ll likely get dragged into doing something boring, but if he says yes it has to be believable. Fortunately, Sarah continues her thought without him having to say anything – a common theme in their household. 

'It’s just I’m going out with Anna today and I want to make sure you’re doing something even potentially productive so I don’t come home to the same mess you leave every day for me to clean up.' 

Brendon scowls slightly. He doesn’t like Anna. But that could be because Anna doesn’t like Brendon and makes very little effort to hide that fact. He rolls his eyes and labours up off the couch. 

'Yeah, sure, I’m going to meet up with some friends and maybe do some writing, it’s all chill. Have fun with Anna.' He glances briefly at Sarah’s expression but he doesn’t want to analyse it too much. 

When they first met, it was different. I guess that’s what time does to people. They’re not unhappy, just stuck in their monotony. 

'See you later, then.' Sarah calls as she grabs her purse and exits the house. 

Brendon stands for a moment, wondering what to do. He does not, in fact, have plans to meet any such friends and he’s not much in the mood for sticking around the house either. He decides to walk around in lieu of an actual plan and waits a few minutes before tracing Sarah’s steps out of the house and onto the street. He slides his sunglasses over his eyes and pulls on a beanie that effectively covers most of his head – attempting not to be recognised though maybe he’s just flattering himself. 

He wanders towards the city centre, trying not to notice anything in particular, but rather figure out the song that’s crawled its way into his head. He thinks he’s heard it on the radio a lot but never really listened to it. 

Once nearing the very centre of the city, he stops and decides to find somewhere to sit down and drink something. He ducks into the nearest coffee shop and orders a fancy sounding frappe thing and takes a seat at the back of the shop, taking out his phone and opening the notes section. 

He writes a few lines of something that will probably turn into nothing, getting distracted by the quiet radio that’s playing over a small speaker in the corner of the room. He keeps having a thought and then writing the lyrics to the song that’s playing. It’s a little infuriating. 

He tries to write more for a couple of minutes, then gives up turns to Twitter for some entertainment. 

Then, there it is again: that song that’s been in his head. It’s one of those ones with the ridiculously catchy hook and about 100 drops. He likes it, it’s not that, it’s just he’s irritated with having an earworm. 

He tries to ignore it a little and checks up on Pete’s twitter, trying to see where the guy is and if he’s available to meet up today. 

He wastes some time at the café before he gets bored and leaves, heading back home because he’s tired and doesn’t feel like walking any further. Plus, he only needed to get out of the house for a short while to validate his earlier excuse to Sarah. 

Once home, he realises why it is he went out. His house is boring. After their forced move because of the crazed fan who wouldn’t leave them alone, he never managed to get used to the new place, still feels like he’s only visiting and will return home soon. 

He lies on the couch and turns on the TV, flicking to some random channel where Storage Wars is on. Classic show. 

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, really he doesn’t, it’s just it’s so relaxing watching big burly guys argue over storage lockers filled with junk covered in dust sheets. 

When he wakes up, the sky is darkening but Sarah isn’t home yet. He knows that because if she had returned, she would have woken him up and pestered him for sleeping instead of doing some of his laundry, because it’s not like they don’t have a  _ maid  _ to do that for them. He also has a couple of texts from friends, and one from Pete which he favours over the rest. 

_ ‘why didn’t I think of a collab w a rapper ;)’ _

He doesn’t know what this is in reference to, but figures it’s some thread of conversation he’s inadvertently entered into – Pete does that a lot: start conversations with people mid-way through his own thought process. Like he’s been having the conversation in his head and then actually contacts the person halfway through. 

He sends a quick text back:  _ ‘maybe u dont know one???’  _ and gets up off the couch to make some food – he’s starving. 

One only slightly burned grilled cheese later and he’s feeling a lot better. He would’ve waited for Sarah to come home and cook something, but she’s usually out with Anna for a while and he could’ve been waiting indefinitely. 

Instead, he proceeds to fiddle around on his laptop for a while, copying down the words he’d written in the café earlier. It’s 11pm when boredom finally gets the best of him and he decides to go to bed. Sarah still isn’t back. This is not unusual. 

The next day begins very much like the last. Sarah is lying next to him, curled inwards at her edge of the bed, an outstretched-arms distance from him. He gets up and goes downstairs to eat something and drink some coffee that’s as strong as he can brew it. 

He jogs once round the block – he fucking  _ hates _ jogging but his physio said it’s good to get a small amount of exercise a day, and jogging was her solution – then heads back up his driveway, overdramatically wiping at his brow in an attempt to make it look like he exerted himself more than he actually did. 

Sarah’s in the kitchen eating a piece of toast and drinking some horrifying looking luminescent smoothie. 

'I’ve got Pilates in an hour, and then I’m going down to meet some people from FabFitFun, so I’ll be out most of this morning and probably some of this afternoon as well. Do you need anything before I go?' she doesn’t look up at him, but stares down at her phone where she’s posting some heavily edited Instagram post. 

Brendon pauses for a second, 'Who’s FitFabFun?' he asks and watches as she sighs. 

She turns to him with tired eyes, 'Do you really care, or are you just asking?' 

He shrugs. 

She takes a long, deep in-breath then puts her plate and glass by the sink and brushes her hair out of her face. 'I’ll see you later then.' She says, placing a fleeting kiss on his cheek on her way out of the door, bag slung over her shoulder as she goes. He stands still and determinedly doesn’t wonder when it became like this between the two of them. They were so in love, before, when did it all change? 

No. Not thinking about that. 

He actually does have plans for today, much to his delight. He’s meeting some people from a magazine to talk about his future music and whether he would consider doing more stuff on Broadway after his stint in ‘Kinky Boots’. He hasn’t had to think about answering them himself because his agent told him exactly what to say: never rule anything out, never guarantee anything either. 

He showers and changes into jeans and a worn-out looking pink t-shirt with a faded emblem on the front. His socks don’t match and one of the laces on his shoes has broken and been tied back together again, but he figures he’s famous enough for it to be considered a fashion statement. 

Grabbing his keys, phone, and wallet, he goes to his car and types in the address for the studio where the interview’s taking place onto his satnav. 

His agent is waiting for him there, along with a stern expression that indicates he’s late. Meh. 

'Come on, they’re waiting. They get a certain amount of this from stuck-up rock stars but I assured them that wasn’t you. Please prove me right.' 

He enters the building like a scolded puppy, but tries to shake that off by the time he’s meeting the man interviewing him, shaking his hand and smiling enthusiastically. 

Most of the interview goes exactly how Brendon imagined it would: formulaic to a fault. It’s only when they’re nearing the end that he manages to get caught off-guard. 

'So, you’ve really been discovering your sound in these last few albums, haven’t you?' the guy asks, leaning forward in his chair with a glint in his eye.

'Um, yeah I guess you could say I have. It’s been a lot of fun, though. I’ve got to try a lot of new stuff, lots of new ideas – not all good.' He laughs and the guy laughs along with him. 

'You ever thought about doing a collaboration with a DJ or rapper then?' The guy continues laughing like that’s supposed to be some sort of joke, and Brendon joins in for a second before frowning a bit. 

'I… I don’t think – I mean I’ve done collaborations with other artists before, if that’s what you mean? Like a couple of years ago with Travie McCoy.' The interviewer returns his frown and they sit in silence for a second before Brendon’s agent cuts in. 

'Listen, I think that’s gonna have to be it for today. Thank you so much for seeing us, can’t wait to see this on your website. C’mon Brendon.' 

His agent ushers him out as he exchanges handshakes and goodbyes with the interviewer and his crew. He is still puzzled by the question, but no one presses it any further. Brendon doesn’t know whether to be happy or sad about that. 

'What was all that about?' Brendon finally asks when they’re far enough away from everyone else. 

His agent waves him off, 'They’re just being dicks, ignore them. You don’t  _ have _ to talk about that.' 

Brendon’s about to say something else, but his agent’s phone rings and he picks it up speedily, leaving Brendon to walk in silence to his car. 

He checks his phone as soon as he’s sat in the driver’s seat and sees it’s from Pete. It’s two emojis: a coffee cup and a clock, he can deduce the message from that, fortunately. He sends back the upside-down smiley face and the prayer hands. Pete responds in under a minute with real words specifying the coffee shop and when he should be there. 

He waits with his caramel macchiato and a napkin that he keeps ripping pieces off of. Pete arrives about 10 minutes late and spots Brendon immediately, smiling widely and waving before just heading towards the barista to order a cappuccino. 

'Yo, what’s up Brendon Urie?' he says, sliding into the seat opposite Brendon. 

'Nothing, Pete Wentz, just patiently waiting here for you to arrive.' Brendon grins at Pete – he has that effect on people, generally. 'What’s up with you?' he asks, sipping his macchiato. 

Pete tilts his head in a sideways shrug and raises his eyebrows, 'I mean, it’s not something particular, I just... thought you might be about as blown away as I am, to be honest. I didn’t wanna say anything to Spencer, I didn’t think he’d feel the same as I do, y’know? Have you talked to him about it?' Pete’s looking at him earnestly, and he has literally no clue what the actual fuck is going on right now. He stays silent for a moment, opens his mouth, then sighs confusedly. 

'What?' he settles on. 

Pete frowns, 'What do you mean ‘what’? Have you talked to Spencer or not?' 

Brendon thinks maybe Pete thinks he’s someone else. Or maybe Pete thinks he’s told Brendon something that he was intending to tell him and hasn’t yet. 

'Pete, you’re gonna have to help me out here, man. I have no idea what you’re on about.' 

Pete regards him curiously for a second and then appears to have had a terrible realisation because his eyes go wide and his mouth drops open a bit. 

'You don’t know. Oh my God, you don’t know. How could – I can’t believe you don’t know!' 

Brendon frowns harshly, 'What? What don’t I know? Pete, tell me!'

Pete rubs his forehead with his forefinger, and huffs out a laugh, 'Dude, you’re not gonna believe this.' He pauses and looks right into Brendon’s perplexed face. He takes a deep breath, 'Okay, so you know that song that’s been on the radio literally 24/7, like, I’m convinced they’ve actually not stopped playing it since it was released, I mean-' 

'Pete!' 

'Yeah, sorry, okay, well that song. Do you know it? It’s number one at the moment. Got a really catchy hook by some rapper dude?' 

Brendon thinks for a moment. He has an embarrassing moment where he can’t remember any single song that has ever been written and then Pete starts humming it. That fucking – fucking song that’s been in his head for the last  _ week _ . 'The one you’re humming?' Pete nods, 'Yeah I know it. What about it?' 

Pete swallows, 'Um, Brendon that’s Ryan. That’s Ryan’s song. It’s his launch back into the music industry, they released it a week ago and it went straight to number 1. He’s… It’s him on that track.' 

Suddenly he doesn’t feel so much like drinking his caramel macchiato anymore – it’s gone cold anyway.

* * *

_ 'I don’t know. There’s a lot of rumours, you know, circulating that me and Brendon may be dating, or, you know, even me and [Spencer], I think that maybe it makes it easier so, you know, sometimes the girls don’t have to worry about another girl’s competition if it’s a guy,'  _

_ 'Yeah,' _

_ 'Like, well he’s totally out of reach.'  _

_ 'You know there’s nothing wrong with a bit of man love is there?' _

_ 'No!' _

_ 'Why can a man hugging-,' _

_ 'Do, do you want proof, do you want to hug?' _

_ *laughing* _

_ 'Yeah!' _

_ 'Lemme just give you it.' _

* * *

Once you’ve noticed something, it’s notoriously difficult to un-notice it. At least, that’s what Brendon’s finding with this goddamned, fucking song. You wouldn’t think it possible to hear one song so many times in two days. But here he is, on what feels like his 100 th listen, not understanding how he didn’t notice. 

It’s just so obvious once you’ve noticed. The voice, the words, everything about it is so inexplicably  _ him _ . 

He’s currently locked himself in his music room, trying to come up with something amazing to combat that song, but every time he thinks of anything, it sounds just like that song, and it’s getting frustrating. 

He sighs, possibly overdramatically, and closes his word document angrily. His mouse hovers for a second, then moves to the Safari icon, opening it and watching the cursor flash expectantly in the Google search bar. He types quickly so he doesn’t have time to change his mind. 

There are so many entries that surface he’s unsure what he wanted to get from this. There it is, glaring at him from his computer screen, bold as day. He clicks on the first thing he can see and tries to remain calm as he reads; 

_ Ryan Ross’s explosive re-emergence into the music scene with new collaborative song ‘Tell Me What’ with Chance the Rapper, is topping the charts again this week and it’s not hard to see why! _

Brendon skims the rest of the article, because evidently they haven’t interviewed Ryan or the title would say that. 

He returns to the search and tries to find some sort of interview with Ryan… but comes up empty handed. There’s one interview with Chance, but that’s from long enough ago that it won’t reveal anything Brendon wants to know. He shuts the laptop defiantly, trying not to think too hard about how Ryan’s career just sky-rocketed way past his own in only 1 week. It’s taken him 13 goddamned years. 

It’s just unbelievable that he wouldn’t call or anything. 

Brendon sits up. 

Maybe he did call. Maybe he did tell them. 

But maybe “them” didn’t tell Brendon. 

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and finds Spencer in his favourites then holds the phone at an angle from his face. 

_ 'Hey, Brendon!' _ he says, picking up on the third ring. 

'Hiya, Spencer,' he replies, overly sweetly. 

_ 'What can I do you for?' _

'Just calling to chat, can’t we chat?' 

He pauses on the other end of the line,  _ 'Yeah, we can chat, of course. We can always chat. What do you want to chat about?'  _ he’s lost some of the joviality, sensing all is not as it seems. 

Brendon shrugs, 'Oh, I don’t know, how about music? Huh? That sound good?' 

Spencer is silent for a second,  _ 'Music is… good. Sure.' _

'Oh, how about that new song that’s on the radio all the time? Um, what’s it called?' He waits for Spencer to respond. 

_ 'You mean ‘Tell Me What’?' _

Brendon clicks his fingers theatrically, 'Yes! That’s it! ‘Tell Me What’! God, what a song.' His voice has turned bitter and he can hear Spencer’s long intake of breath. 

_ 'It is a good song.'  _ He finally replies coolly, ' _ Listen, Brendon,' _

'It’s just so weird,' Brendon interrupts, 'that I didn’t know that was Ryan’s song! Isn’t that weird, Spence? Seeing as it’s probable that he called or… or something, beforehand, right?' 

Spencer is quiet for a long time. Brendon wonders briefly whether he hung up, but eventually he hears some steady breathing and just waits it out. 

_ 'Brendon. He didn’t call me. Jon did.'  _

In all honesty, this was not the answer he was anticipating. 

'Jon called you?'

_ 'Yeah, Jon called the day before it was released saying he’d heard from some people that Ryan was back in the game. Ryan didn’t tell him, either.' _

Now it’s Brendon’s turn to pause. 'But,' 

_ 'I don’t know what you thought I knew, but the fact of the matter is, I didn’t have time to tell you. It came out the next day and then, you know, I figured you’d hear it on the radio and that’d be that. I wouldn’t have to do anything. It would happen naturally. Not my fault you didn’t notice.'  _

Brendon leans back in his seat, feeling stupid now. 

'Sorry, Spencer.' He says, not sure if there’s anything else he can say. 

Spencer sighs,  _ 'It’s okay, Brendon. I’m pissed off too, to be honest. I know we don’t talk anymore, but I thought he might have given us at least a heads up.'  _

Brendon nods, he really thought Ryan might’ve tried to contact them, at the very least. They were friends for a long time – he was friends with Spencer for even longer. Maybe he doesn’t think he owes them anything anymore, after everything that happened. 

The breakup was mutual, Ryan and Jon just wanted to do something else, it was the right thing for them – neither wanted to compromise when it came to their music. So, maybe, Brendon had been a bit of a dick  _ insisting _ that he kept P!AtD alive and then essentially rebranding, but he did what he had to do to survive. 

That night when he’s curled on the couch with Sarah watching some shitty show about moving houses, he gets a text from Spencer and his phone beeps loudly. 

Sarah cuts her eyes over to him and sighs, then takes a swig of her beer. He momentarily considers looking guilty, but honestly he’s not sure he has it in him. 

He reads the text a couple of times, he doesn’t really take it in first time round.  _ ‘hes done an interview  _ [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQ2o0j2Uj64 ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQ2o0j2Uj64) _ ’  _

Brendon looks at the link. Sarah’s given up on giving him the stink eye and has instead returned her attention to the vapid programme playing merrily on their TV screen. He gets up and exits the room, wanting to play the video somewhere she can’t see him or bitch at him. 

He clicks the link and waits while his phone takes him to the YouTube app and buffers for a moment before the image of Ryan firmly emerges. 

He looks different. Older but with that young boy face, filling out his body but also still retaining that look like he doesn’t know where his limbs end. 

His hair is long and flipped over to one side, and he’s got some scraggly looking stubble decorating his jaw. He’s wearing a leather jacket over a slogan t shirt that has holes in it, and there’s a simple, silver chain round his neck that he’s tucked into his shirt so any pendant that might be on it is hidden from view. 

He looks comfortable, sitting across from the interviewer, big headphones balanced on his head, his face leaned in close to the mic, and a slow, practiced smile painting his lips. 

The interviewer, a young woman, is smiling brightly through her dark red lipstick at Ryan over the desk, who nods as she introduces him. 

' _ So, I’ve got a very special guest with me today, the voice of the current number one smash hit ‘Tell Me What’, Ryan Ross! How are you doing, Ryan?' _

_ 'I’m good, thanks, it’s awesome to be here.'  _ He clasps his hands together and rests his elbows on the desk, still smiling. The camera switches to the woman and she flicks her hair over her shoulder, settling forward in her chair towards the mic. 

_ 'Awesome to have you! So I understand it’s been a while since you last released any music,' _

_ 'Yeah, that’s right,' _

_ 'What’s it like, coming back into the scene after so long away?'  _

He takes a breath and laughs lowly,  _ 'It’s been fun, actually. Working with Chance has been so incredible, he’s a really talented guy.'  _

_ 'And did – sorry – did he contact you about the song?' _

_ 'Um, well I was writing some songs already, and then he asked if I wanted to work with him, and I said I had some material, and in the end it worked out and sounded better with both of us on that one track,' _

_ 'So his original plan was just for you to collaboratively write the song, rather than sing on it?'  _ The interview woman asks, and Ryan shifts and nods.

_ 'Yeah, I mean, after we’d been working together for a while we just thought it would sound better if I sang on it as well. Considering I’d written most it and everything.' _

_ 'And of course you agreed,' _

_ 'Ha, yes, I did. I liked the song, I liked that we’d made it from scratch, I thought it would sound good.' _

_ 'Well you weren’t wrong. I’ve been listening to it almost on repeat, I love it so much!'  _

Ryan laughs, restrained, but he laughs and Brendon can’t watch anymore. 

He locks his phone and runs his hands through his hair. He can hear the TV still playing in the other room and looks back, but Sarah’s not looking for him, she’s contentedly watching the screen. 

He changes his mind and unlocks the phone again, opening messages to respond to Spencer. 

_ ‘do I have to watch the whole thing?’ _ he types out, trying to decide whether that sounds casual enough. 

Spencer’s reply pings through only a few seconds later:  _ ‘1.23’  _ time stamp. He returns to the YouTube app and winds forward to the specified time, taking a couple of attempts to get right on the money. 

_ '-r most well known from Panic! At the Disco, the band you set up in your teen years, right?' _

_ 'Right.'  _ He doesn’t look too uncomfortable. 

_ 'You were the guitarist, right?'  _ Ryan hums his affirmation,  _ 'And you wrote 2 albums before you and… Jon Walker, the bassist, broke away from the other members – Brendon Urie and Spencer Smith – and went to make your own music.'  _ Ryan doesn’t reply, just waits for the woman to continue.  _ 'What do they think of the new song?'  _

Now he does look a little uncomfortable. 

_ 'Um. I think it’s a little different from what they might be used to, but Brendon was always into catchy, synthesised beats, so I guess he mustn’t hate it.'  _

_ 'Oh, so have you not talked to them since it came out?'  _ The interview woman presses, and Ryan smiles widely at her. 

_ 'It has been 10 years.' _ Ryan laughs and the woman joins in, mumbling something about how silly she is, of course she’s not still in touch with many people she knew 10 years ago. And they move on. 

Brendon resists the urge to throw his phone across the room and instead locks it and slides it into his pocket. 

He strides determinedly back into the room where Sarah’s spread out across the couch, taking up the space Brendon vacated. He goes to her, she barely registers him until he grabs her arm and pulls her into a sitting position to kiss her hard. She makes a noise of surprise against his mouth and pushes at his shoulders. He ignores that, trying to kiss her deeper, and she pushes harder, eventually pulling away enough to frown at him and block his advances. 

'What the fuck, Brendon?' she screeches, crawling backwards and moving herself into a sitting position with her back against the arm of the couch. 'What the fuck is wrong with you?' 

He bites his lips together and tries to stroke her leg, but she pulls it away from him, clutching her knees to her chest – she looks small and scared. And pissed off. 

'Sorry, I just thought… it’s been a while and,' 

'So you decided to fucking manhandle me so we could have sex?' She’s scowling and rubbing her arm where he can see the red marks from where he grabbed her. 

'I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to hurt you.' 

'Well, maybe you should consider other people for once in your goddamn life, Brendon, instead of just taking what you want without thinking about it.' She gets up off the couch and stomps away. 

He sighs and feels like a complete prick. 

She returns a couple of minutes later with a pillow and a blanket. She throws them at his head from behind the couch and he turns to look at her after he’s picked them up. She still looks angry, but she doesn’t look sad, or scared, so that’s something at least. 

'I’m sorry, Sarah.' 

She rolls her eyes and scoffs, 'You always are.' 

* * *

_ 'So, yeah, we actually got to go into our own beds, separate beds, each night and actually get some good sleep, so,' _

_ 'We didn’t sleep in the same bed last time, either?' _

_ 'No, no, no, no, no, no, um, yeah, but, respective bed _ _ rooms _ _ , sorry.' _

_ 'Maybe you were with,' _

_ 'Maybe that’s why all these rumours get started ‘cos I open my mouth, my fat mouth, and I don’t realise I’m saying this and then it turns into that, so, anyways, that’s yeah.'  _

* * *

He’s managed to wheedle his way back into Sarah’s good graces a week later, being a better husband in those 7 days than he has for most of the 2 years they’ve been married. The radio in their house hasn’t been used, neither has the one in his car. They’re going blissfully off the grid for a little while. Sarah’s not complaining. 

Pete’s been keeping him out of the loop, deliberately, and Spencer only texts him about possible double-dates with him and Linda, so there’s no stress on that end either. He’s enjoying the off-the-gridness of his life, tries to imagine what it would be like to live this way all the time. 

He has talked to Sarah about the whole thing. She sat and listened patiently while he talked about it and why he was acting the way he was. She’d nodded and wet her lips slightly, then taken his hand in her own and said, 'It’s okay, Brendon. So long as you don’t let this be a regular thing, it’s fine.' 

He’d smiled gratefully and asked, 'We’re okay, right?' 

She’d responded with a sad smile and said, 'We’re getting by.' 

But she’s been happier this week, so Brendon’s thinking that as long as he gives enough that they’re just above ‘getting by’, their marriage might overcome this rough patch they appear to be going through. 

It’s a couple of days after this that Pete sends him a text that’s exactly what he’s not been wanting to see ever since he found out about ‘Tell Me What’. 

_ ‘ppl want 2 interview u. I dnt no how long I can hold them off :/’ _

He chews his lip anxiously. He really, really,  _ really _ doesn’t want to talk about Ryan’s return to music. He hasn’t spoken to the guy in a decade, what is there to say, anyway? He could say he’s happy for him, but he’s not sure if that’s necessarily true. 

When the band broke up, he was torn between feeling betrayed and wanting Ryan to do what made him happy. Somewhere along the way, he’s not sure where, he just stopped caring about what Ryan was doing – it wasn’t his life and he therefore cared little about the particulars of it. 

Of course, in interviews when Ryan’s name comes up, he plays the part of caring acquaintance, but the fact of the matter is he honestly doesn’t give a shit. They parted ways, it’s his band now and he’s getting on with his life. It was hard at first, but it got easier, like everything else in life. 

He knows these stupid interviewers just wanna watch him squirm and maybe start some stupid shit for the fans to cling onto – like a reunion or a collaboration. Yeah, it’d be a cold day in hell if that ever happened.

His fingers hover over his screen, debating what the best way to phrase ‘well they can go fuck themselves’ is. If there is one. 

_ ‘cant I just tweet abt it?’ _

It’s maybe a little desperate, but he doesn’t want to talk to someone about how, look, Ryan’s so much more famous than you are, Brendon! Weird, huh? 

He’s not sure his ego can handle that if anything. 

Pete sends him a disapproving emoji and he sighs heavily. 

_ ‘rlly Pete I don’t want to do an interview’ _

Pete calls him a second later. 

'I’m not doing one, Pete.'

_ 'What about a phone interview?' _

'No. No interviews.'

_ 'Brendon, please try to be reasonable. I don’t know how much longer I can hold them off!' _

'Well try harder! I don’t want to talk about it, and I’m sure Ryan doesn’t want me to talk about it, either. I’m sure he’s trying to distance himself from me as much as I am from him.'

_ 'Have you seen his interviews?' _

Brendon swallows, 'No. Well, only 1. The first one he did.'

Pete pauses and breathes heavily.  _ 'Maybe you should watch some of them. They’re good. He gets asked about you a lot. He’s very good at answering. Maybe you could learn something about being civil and supportive.'  _

'Still not doing an interview.'

_ 'Fine! Goddamn it. You win. Just send a tweet out saying you enjoy it. But let me read it first. Don’t just ignore me and send it out.'  _ Pete clicks his tongue,  _ 'Just remember, I’m on your side here, Brendon. Don’t shut me out or get mad at me because I’m trying to do my job. I only want to protect you, okay?' _

'Okay. I get it. I’ll send you a draft before I post it.' 

_ 'Thank you.' _

He spends a while thinking about what his tweet should say. He doesn’t want to come on too strong or sound sarcastic. 

In the end, he records a video of himself at a bar with Zack, smiling and pointing at the speaker which is playing the song. He sends it to Pete and he responds with a thumbs up, so he posts it on Twitter alongside the dancing man and the rock on hand. It earns a lot of attention just after he posts it and he figures he must’ve done something right. 

Spencer messages him shortly after it’s up asking if he’s sure this was a good idea. Brendon replies that if it were up to him he wouldn’t have said anything, but Pete coerced him and so he really had very little choice on the matter. 

It takes approximately 12 hours for the “fandom” to have gone  completely insane. According to Pete, who intermittently checks up on the Panic! following, this is what some of these kids have been waiting and hoping for since 2009 and have consequently lost their shit at this apparent contact between Brendon and Ryan. Brendon would like to point out it’s extremely one-sided as yet, because though Ryan may have talked about his Panic days and, by extension, Brendon, he only did so in a setting where he had no alternative – interviews. 

Sarah is also getting her share of the backlash. She’s done her best over the years to ignore some of the more unsavoury – and occasionally violent – comments from hardcore ‘Ryden’ fans, but this new development has exploded on her in a way Brendon wasn’t expecting. 

He finds her scrolling through some of her Instagram comments, hand over her mouth and in evident distress. 

'What’s wrong?' he asks, sliding a hand over her back and rubbing it in small circles. 

'It’s just so crazy that kids can be so mean.' She whispers, frowning slightly. 

'Don’t look at them, Sarah. They’re hateful and disgusting and they don’t know what they’re talking about, anyway.' He picks her phone out of her hands and locks it, then turns her to face him. She doesn’t look like she’s going to cry, but she looks mournful in a way he can’t pin down. 'They’re just dumb kids. They don’t  _ know  _ you. They’re just obsessed with this stupid, ‘gay’ idea and won’t let it go.' 

She shakes her head, 'I know, it’s just after a certain amount of time, the ‘you filthy whore, you ruined the band’ comments wear you a little thin, you know?' 

He pulls her into a hug and she grips back. 'I know. I wish they didn’t have to bring you into this.' He thinks for a second and tilts his head closer to hers, 'I’m sorry I brought you into this.' 

She laughs a little and moves back to look at him. 'It wasn’t intentional.' 

'Still, I feel responsible.' 

She doesn’t say anything to that, just caresses the side of his face, smiles, and walks away.

The next day, Zack takes him out again. He’s not in the process of recording anything, so finds himself less-than-blissfully free of things to do on a regular basis. Zack has become his go-to. After Spencer and Dallon quit being in the band full-time, he feels like he’s grown further away from them, unintentionally, but noticeably. 

Zack escorts him to a local rec centre and says they’re gonna play some games because, in Zack’s words, 'Urie, you’re a skinny bitch who needs to up his game'. 

They play some basketball – the word ‘play’ here operating in its loosest possible sense – and then chill out in the gym, Brendon finding new and creative ways to utilise the equipment under Zack’s laughter-filled gaze. 

'No wonder your arms are just glorified strings of spaghetti,' Zack comments, 'are you even physically able to hold your arms above your head for more than 10 seconds?' 

Brendon tries to punch Zack’s shoulder hard, but from the look on Zack’s face, you’d not think he’d felt that more than one would a gentle breeze. 

'Really, noodle-boy? That’s the best you got?' 

Brendon narrows his eyes and accepts the challenge. 

Picking out a more secluded corner of the training room, Zack sets himself up behind the punching bag and instructs Brendon as he – in Zack’s opinion – half-heartedly swats at the bag. There’s sweat trickling down his neck and forehead as he pants and leans his head against the punching bag. 

'You know,' he heaves between laboured intakes of breath, 'this was a lot easier in the Victorious video. I didn’t actually have to try very hard.'

Zack pfts and rolls his eyes, 'That was a music video, this is real life. The two are very different.'

'I know that,' Brendon huffs, and punches the bag as hard as he can. 

He’s stinky and lethargic when he returns home, but he has a sense of alleviated tension and that’s definitely worth the dull ache in muscles he didn’t even know could ache. He dumps his gym bag at the foot of the stairs and goes to the kitchen to fill up his water bottle. 

He can hear the TV in the other room playing quietly, and almost doesn’t register it, but then hears a familiar voice crooning through the speakers. He frowns and puts his bottle down on the counter, walking down the hall to the living room. 

He sees Sarah perched on the edge of the couch, watching the screen intently, with her head tilted. 

He looks from her to the TV and sees Ryan’s face filling the screen. He’s on the Ellen DeGeneres show, doing a live acoustic performance of ‘Tell Me What’. 

Brendon watches for a second, completely engrossed, when Sarah snaps him back into reality. 

'I just turned it on and there he was. I don’t know why I didn’t think this would happen, to be honest. It’s only natural he should do a show like this. He’s good.' 

Brendon nods and continues watching, though less avidly. 

Ryan finishes the song and smiles, waves to the audience, claps the band behind him. Ellen is clapping too, smiling widely and beckoning him back over. 

'Well that was absolutely incredible, Ryan, thank you,' Ellen gushes, looking genuinely astounded, 'Although I must say, I was a big fan of the, er, the eyeliner and the flowery vests.' Ellen laughs along with the audience and Ryan smiles, embarrassed. 

'I mean, it was a great era, but, I think if I did that now, people might think I was having a crisis.'

Ellen laughs again, tipping her head back and cackling.

'Maybe you’re right! Um, so, thank you again for playing and for coming on the show, we’re all really excited for your new material which is coming out in… December this year?'

'Yeah that’s right.' Ryan affirms.

'So everyone go out and buy that when it’s available. If ‘Tell Me What’ is anything to go by, it’s gonna be an incredible album!'

Sarah turns off the TV then.

'I didn’t know he was writing an album,' she says, mostly to herself.

'Neither.' Brendon says quietly. 

'Well good for him.' She says, turning to look at Brendon.

'Yeah, good for him.' 

He coughs, once, and turns out of the room. He heads up to the bathroom and takes a shower, scrubbing at his skin almost viciously and then cursing himself because the loofa’s left angry, red marks on his chest and arms. 

He towels off and wipes the mirror free of condensation from the steam of the shower. He stares into his eyes, looking at the lines that mar his forehead and the age the darkens under his eyes. He thinks about how much he’s grown since Panic started, and wonders if he would have done it differently, if he could go back and redo it. 

He combs his hair back and laughs at himself. No point thinking about what ifs. The fact of the matter is things happened the way they did and he ended up with this life, almost accidentally. Almost. 

He emerges from the bathroom and picks his way across their bedroom to put on his pajamas, which Sarah has folded and placed neatly on his pillow – he knows for a fact when he took them off this morning he chucked them somewhere on the floor close to the bed. He sits on the edge of the bed and takes off his watch, laying it out carefully beside his alarm clock. 

There’s a whole day of paperwork and meetings scheduled for tomorrow, and after his short escape from that madness, he’s almost loathe to return to it. Then he thinks of Ryan’s face on the TV and the look on Sarah’s face the other morning after reading the mean comments and he thinks that tomorrow can’t come soon enough. 

* * *

_ 'As soon as I heard him sing… I knew his voice could get us there. Wherever there was, he was the one to do it.' _

_ 'Because you were originally going to be the singer, and Brendon was only brought in as guitarist?' _

_ 'Yeah, um, when Brent told me about it, it was only going to be guitar,' _

_ 'Was it difficult for you, Ryan, to give up that place in your band?' _

_ 'Er, um, no. Actually, no. I thought it might… might be, but Brendon singing my words was… it was… it was right.' _

_ 'Aw, thanks, man.'  _

_ 'You can’t ignore it if it’s just right.' _

* * *

'So we were thinking you could do a holiday performance this year again. They’re always good publicity and easy to organise as one-off shows. What do you think?' 

Brendon tries to look interested, but they’re been talking about every detail of the band and the logistics of it for nearly 3 hours and he is so exhausted and bored he doesn’t actually care what anyone is saying anymore. 

'Brendon, is that okay?'

He blinks, 'Yeah. That’s fine. Christmas or New Years is better than anything else. We’re spending Thanksgiving with Sarah’s parents.' 

'That’s fine. I’ll sort it out and let you know when we’ve pinned one down. Now, I think it’s probably time to start work on a new album, if you wanna talk about any ideas you have?' 

Brendon knows they’re only trying to help him and further his career, but in all honesty, he really doesn’t want to think about writing a new album just yet. He hasn’t got any ideas for any songs and he kind of wants a little break. 

'Maybe another time?' he suggests, running his hands up and down his legs, 'I don’t really have anything yet, I wanna make sure I do.' 

His agent nods and smiles a little tersely, 'Just as long as you have something in the next few months, we should be okay.' 

Brendon gives him a grateful smile and the important people file out, leaving Brendon sitting in an uncomfortably warm meeting room. He stays there for a few minutes, trying to gather his thoughts enough to work out what it was he had planned to do for the rest of the day – he was sure he had plans.

Just as he’s about to admit defeat, Pete pokes his head round the door, looking confused, but widens his eyes in relief upon seeing Brendon. 

'Dude, there you are! I saw everyone come out of the meeting, and there was no sign of you. You coming or what?' Pete asks, moving further into the room. Brendon shakes his head to clear it and picks up his bag. 

'Yeah, I’m coming. Sorry, lost in thought, I guess.' Pete smiles easily and walks out the room again. Brendon follows close behind. 

'Shit,' Pete then exclaims, pausing mid-step and swinging back around to face Brendon. 'I forgot my wallet in my office. Come with?' 

Pete’s “office” is actually just one of those rent-out offices in a random tower-block in LA. There are loads because it’s pretty expensive to buy a whole one, and since Pete has a permanent DCD2 office back in New York, he figured renting one in LA was more cost-effective. 

Brendon obligingly follows Pete down the corridor past another room being used as a DCD2 office. Pete’s room has his name on it – well a strip of masking tape that says ‘Pete Wentz or die’ on it, but that’s essentially the same thing – and he quickly dives in and grabs his wallet off the desk. 

'Got it, okay let’s go!'

They walk back down the corridor towards the elevator and press the button to go down. It takes a minute to arrive, and then it pings and the doors open to an elevator holding several people mid-chatter. 

'Fuck!' someone shouts, 'I promise you, this used to work. If you held it down, then it wouldn’t-' 

Brendon looks on with sickened fascination as Ryan turns his head from the button for the elevator to the guy standing at his side to the people waiting for the elevator in the corridor. 

'Oh,' Ryan says, looking between Brendon and Pete with a face that looks like it doesn’t know which emotion to display. 

Pete’s mouth is hanging open but he’s not saying anything – which is unusual, for Pete – and Brendon’s just too shocked to do anything other than stare gormlessly. 

'Um, you going up?' the guy standing beside Ryan eventually says, leaning his head out of the elevator slightly to address them. 

Pete shakes his head and Brendon says, 'I pressed down.' 

The guy nods and retreats into the elevator, 'Sorry, we’re going up,' then, after a beat, 'Ryan, press the button.' 

Ryan seems to snap out of his daze and presses the button before anyone says anything else. 

The elevator door closes and Brendon and Pete stand for another minute, shell-shocked. 

'Um,' Pete eventually manages, turning to look at Brendon. 

'Yeah, pretty much.' 

* * *

_ 'Yeah, it’s, uh, it’s kind of a weird situation, I guess… It’s hard to, uh, find people to… replace, old members that you’ve, you know, been with in a band for five plus years, so, it’s kind of, um, yeah I mean, they, uh, they were just totally happy to oblige us and humour us on the tour and then were awesome for us, just being able to tour, cos we only had that one booked, so, *sigh*, luckily they, you know, they were able to do that, but, we’ll see, we’ll see.' _

* * *

Brendon tries, tries with all his might to forget about Ryan, the song, everything. He wants to just get over it and move on with his own life. But it starts becoming some kind of obsession. Everyday he finds himself checking Ryan’s social media for new posts, checking news outlets for new interviews, checking fan sites for new pieces of gossip. He follows Ryan’s climb to fame like a 14 year old fangirl from the early Panic! days. This ultimately reminds him of those early Panic! days and one morning he finds himself climbing into his attic to retrieve the box of bits and bobs from their pre-2009 era. He carefully brings it down to his studio and rifles through it, all the CDs, signed merch, posters, and envelopes of developed photos. 

He’s about to open one of those envelopes marked ‘2005 - Nintendo Tour’, one of the early ones that was intended to provide them with some exposure. He remembers it being a lot of fun, Fall Out Boy were there too, so were Motion City Soundtrack who he hadn’t heard of but became a fan of. In the end he doesn’t open it, then sits back on his heels and looks at the mess he’s created. He stands up and takes his phone out of his pocket, selecting Spencer’s number and calling him. 

_ 'Hallo! What can I do you for?'  _ Spencer’s voice rings through, a bit fuzzy from the line. 

'Hey, Spence, just wondered whether maybe you wanted to come over, jam a little, maybe?' 

There’s some general humming and shuffling on the other end of the phone as Spencer clearly moves rooms, then some muffled speech between him and a woman - Linda - and then Spencer’s voice comes back again,  _ 'Um, yeah, sure, Brendon. When should I come?'  _

'Um,' Brendon hesitates, looking down at the box on the floor, contents spilled out over the rug, 'Whenever is good, I’m free all day, so.' 

_ 'Cool, I’ll be there in an hour, ‘kay?'  _

'‘Kay. Sounds good. See you in a bit, then.' Spencer says bye and Brendon hangs up. 

He picks up the envelope of photos and opens it carefully. He takes out the brick of pictures and flips through the first few, just pictures of the venue from the inside and outside, but stops at the first picture not of the venue; him and Ryan, hugging, onstage before the gig, looking out at the stalls with wide eyes and looks of childish excitement. Brendon remembers being that excited, that ecstatic. He puts the photos away quickly and shoves everything else clumsily back into the box. 

He can’t be bothered to trek back up to the attic to replace the photos so just shoves them under a small side table in the studio and walks away. He makes some food and puts more lite beer in the fridge for Spencer. There are pots and pans in the sink from the night before when Sarah made some pasta dish Brendon didn’t really like. She said she got it off some health blog and that it followed some stupid diet she had adopted. He didn’t really care, it still tasted like ass however healthy it was supposed to have been. 

When Spencer arrives he immediately pulls Brendon into a tight hug. 

'How you doing, huh?’ He pulls back, keeping his hands on Brendon’s shoulders to look at him. 

Brendon shrugs, ‘I’m fine. Just wanted some company, is all.’

‘Where’s Sarah today then?’ 

Brendon sighs, ‘Out with  _ Anna _ , of course.’ 

Spencer gives him a look but doesn’t say anything, just swings his hands down to his sides then shoves them in his pockets. ‘You wanna work on some music then?’ Brendon smiles gratefully and leads him to the studio. 

‘You working on a new album?’ Spencer asks once they’ve sat themselves down in the studio, leaning his elbow on the (thankfully turned off) keyboard. 

‘Yeah, well, trying. I can’t… can’t seem to get my head in the right place.’ 

Spencer nods and looks around the studio at the mess of crumpled sheet music and numerous discarded biros. ‘I can see that, yeah.’

Brendon walks across the room and picks up a notepad, and opens it to about halfway through. ‘You see, I have all these little bits but none of them fit together and every time they do it’s to the tune of one of… one of Ryan’s stupid songs!’ He chucks the pad across the floor towards Spencer and he leans down to pick it up. 

‘Look, Brendon,’ he begins, but Brendon cuts him off. 

‘I know, OK! I know! But I can’t get him out of my head.’ He huffs and perches on the mixing deck. 

Spencer sighs and leafs through the pad, then closes it and puts it down next to him. He’s silent for a moment, then leans forward and puts his hands together under his chin. ‘I think you need to let the past die, Brendon. You’re holding onto this… this memory of Ryan when he was our friend and we worked together, but that was a long time ago. We were young then, and we’re not friends anymore. He’s got his own career, you’ve got your own career for christ’s sake! You need to take care of that and focus on it, don’t focus on him.’ 

‘Yeah, that’s easy to say, Spencer. Less easy to actually do. He’s on the radio 24/7,’

‘Then stop listening to the radio! Brendon, we’ve gone a decade without hearing from him, you can go 6 months.’ 

Brendon runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. Then, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes as he lets it go. 

‘Let’s make some music, huh? We haven’t had a jam session in a really long time.’ 

Spencer doesn’t say anything, just nods and turns over a new page in the notebook, writing the date at the top of the page - an old habit. 

Brendon takes a seat behind his acoustic, free-standing piano and gently presses out a couple of chords, just to ease in. Spencer is tapping the biro against the page and humming softly.

‘I think we need something light, something that signifies a new beginning, a new era.’ 

Brendon nods and moves into major chords, Spencer nods and smiles. 

‘There we go, see? Easy peasy.’ 

Brendon chuckles and plays a quick, happy tune ending in a jokey flourish. 

* * *

_ ‘It’s not been the easiest thing in the world, no, but we’re, uh, we’re hoping this is going to be a really good move for us, uh, in the long run.’  _

_ ‘And are you guys all still in contact, you’re still- you’re still all friends?’  _

_ ‘Oh, uh, yeah, no, of course, yeah, still friends, right?’ _

_ ‘Yeah, we’re still talking and everything…’  _

_ ‘Because everyone’s sort of still getting to grips with the news, here now, the fans… the fans are understandably a bit disappointed.’  _

_ *Sigh* ‘Well, you know, uh, you can’t please everyone,’ _

_ ‘No,’ _

_ ‘And this, uh, this felt like the right move, for, for all of us.’ _

* * *

There’s something strangely therapeutic about washing the dishes, Brendon wonders briefly that it might be made better by an eye-level window looking out onto a rolling lawn where his kids were playing with a football. He shakes the thought out of his head; they had put that matter to bed years ago, no take-backs. 

He’s listening to the radio to help pass the time quicker, some 80s channel so as to avoid certain people’s songs. He’s been vehemently ignoring the song, even steering off Spotify to properly avoid it. Though one singular benefit of Ryan’s explosion on the music scene has been the second-hand publicity it has handed him. Pete informed him a couple days ago that Panic! songs were re-entering the charts, getting downloaded more, and getting played on radio stations more. At least he could thank Ryan for that much. 

Sarah bustles through the kitchen, bending over the couch to rootle around her handbag, one she chucked there late last night, narrowly missing Brendon’s head. 

‘Have you seen my keys? I’m late and I can’t find them,’ she turns and folds her arms, ‘Have you taken them? Are you even listening to me?’ 

Brendon closes his eyes and breathes, tries not to twist around and spit some venomous retort, ‘No, I haven’t seen them,’ he says without turning, ‘You can take mine if you want, they’re in the bowl by the door.’ 

She scoffs and almost stomps out of the kitchen to the door, he hears the jangle of his keys being taken out of the bowl, then the door opens and slams shut. 

‘Bye, then, I guess.’ He mumbles, scrubbing viciously at one stain on a plate until his arm hurts and he dunks it back in the soapy water, sighing. He rubs at his eye with the back of his gloved wrist, then his phone starts beeping and he has to hurriedly pull the gloves off, flicking soap onto his face in the process. 

He picks up the phone a little out of breath. 

‘Hello?’ 

_ ‘You all right? You sound like you’ve been on a run?’  _ Pete chuckles down the line. 

‘I’m fine, jackass, what’s up?’ He wipes the soap off his face with his free hand. 

_ ‘I have news,’  _ Pete trills gleefully,  _ ‘Wanna guess what it is?’ _

‘Um,’ Brendon drones, walking round to dump himself on the couch, ‘Why don’t you just tell me instead?’ 

_ ‘Urgh, what a killjoy! Fine, fine, I’ll just tell you then, shall I? Take aaalll the fun out of it and just robotically relay my fabulous news to you like some-’ _

‘Pete, come on.’ 

_ ‘All right, all right, ok. I have arranged for you to collab on a track with someone very famous! You wanna guess who that-’  _

‘Pete!’ 

_ ‘Ok, ok, I’m sorry! It’s Taylor Swift. It sounds like a cool project, she was looking for someone to do it with, and you were top of the list! Just got off the phone with her agent, she’s happy to start ASAP. What do you think?’  _

Brendon stays very still for a second and looks at the blank TV screen. His treacherous mind briefly flies to Ryan and how he would totally be jealous of this news; he was a secret Swiftie from the get-go. He closes his eyes to get that thought out of his head again. 

_ ‘Hello? Earth to Brendon? What do you say?’  _

‘Yes. Sorry. I say yes.’ 

_ ‘Awesome! I’ve already actually accepted on your behalf because you cannot miss out on an opportunity like this, so I’ll send you the deets right now!’  _

‘That’s great, Pete, thanks.’ 

_ ‘You are so welcome. She said she was gonna message you later as well, just to get in the personal touch. Hope that’s fine, I mean it’s T-Swift so obviously it’s fine. Anyway, have a sweet day!’  _ Pete hangs up and Brendon puts the phone down next to him on the couch. 

He knows, logically, he should be so excited about this news. Taylor Swift is a big artist, like  _ big- _ big. He would be insane to say no, that kind of move would be counter-intuitive for his career, his reputation. There’s just. There’s this thing, right at the back of his mind, something he’s trying really hard not to listen to, not to pay any attention to. And that thing is telling him he doesn’t deserve this, that he should give up and move on with his stupid life and just quit kidding himself. 

He wonders whether that thing will ever go away. He’s not sure when it started, just that it’s there now and refuses to budge, refuses to let him take pride in his work and be happy that his career is flourishing. 

Maybe he should go for a run. The idea makes him feel suddenly exhausted so he just reaches for the remote, turns sideways on the couch and watches shitty TV until his eyes go blurry and the world elapses into darkness. 

Sarah wakes him up when she arrives home, tapping his shoulder until he stirs and sits up. 

‘What time is it?’ He mumbles, wiping his eyes. 

‘1am. You wanna move to the real bed or you gonna stay here all night?’ He looks up at her, her face not displaying anger or frustration like he expected, just a deep, dull tiredness. 

‘Yeah, sure, sorry, I didn’t realise I was tired.’ 

She shrugs and starts to walk away, ‘Maybe you should see a doctor? You getting enough protein?’ 

Brendon sighs as he pushes into a seated position, and cracks his neck both ways. ‘Yeah, maybe.’ 

He follows her upstairs and changes into his pyjamas while she uses the bathroom, the sounds of running water and an electric toothbrush filtering through the door. He wishes she wouldn’t leave the water running while she brushed her teeth. 

When she exits, hair now tied up and makeup completely removed, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. 

‘Are you happy?’ 

She pauses for a moment to look at him with a funny expression, then moves to her side of the bed where her moisturiser is. She opens the tub and begins massaging some cream onto her hands and arms. ‘What do you mean?’ She eventually replies. 

‘Are you happy? In life, with me, y’know?’ 

He doesn’t look around but can hear her rubbing get slower and more methodical. 

‘I’m happy enough.’ She says, and Brendon nods and gets up to use the bathroom. 

When he returns to bed, he checks his phone one last time before turning his alarm off. There’s a message from an unknown number so he opens it and it’s from Taylor. He glances over it and feels a welling in his chest at how sweet and genuine it is. She spends the whole paragraph gushing about him and his work and how perfect he’d be on the song. He honestly nearly cries. So he taps out a quick reply (he’ll respond better in the morning, maybe) gushing back about how he’s such a fan and would love this opportunity etc. etc. 

‘Would you turn off your phone? I can see the light.’ Sarah grumbles from behind him. His smile fades and he sends the text before turning off the screen and closing his eyes. 

The next morning Sarah is gone before he’s finished his breakfast, and he checks his email while polishing off his eggs on toast - an attempt to get more protein, just in case. 

He deletes all the junk mail and then moves on to the one from Pete with the subject heading “TSWIFT COLLAB STUFF”, quickly reading through all the relevant information and saving the contract to read later. Then, he turns on iMessage and clicks Pete’s name.

_ ‘got the email, happy to start whenever’  _

The ellipses appear almost instantaneously and he just waits on the open window for Pete’s reply to ping through. 

_ ‘ _ _ amazing i’ll set up studio time for asap’  _

He sends back a thumbs-up emoji and exits the window. He brushes crumbs off his hands and goes to put the plate in the sink where he’s certain he’ll forget about it thus causing a silent fight with Sarah later on. 

He goes for a shower, selecting a playlist for the 10 minutes he’ll be in there (including ‘Tell Me What’ which he debates about for a while before adding it to the queue and not questioning it anymore), and, when he exits, dries and checks himself out in the mirror for a moment until the steam makes it impossible to see anything other than a pinkish blur topped with a blob of black. His phone has a new message from Pete when he gets out of the bathroom that reads:  _ ‘soooo how’s 3pm today?’  _

He’s not sure if he has any other choice but to accept this and asks where to be. 

Upon arrival, he’s informed that he has an hour to learn the lyrics and listen through what else has been recorded to place it properly. He reads through the lyrics and bites his tongue; not exactly Fever level writing, but he doesn’t hate it, and it’s Taylor Swift, so. Once he says he has enough of an idea about it he’s carted through to the recording studio where the first formation of the track is played for him. He asks to hear it a couple of times to get used to the rhythm, melody, intros, outros, etc. then says he’s ready to go into the booth and give it a go. 

He slips the headphones on and straightens the lyric sheet in front of him. 

‘Hey, Brendon, so we’ll run it a couple times, just your verse first and then some of the interjections, ok?’ The engineer asks through the glass, leaning toward the mic to be heard.

‘Yeah that’s fine,’ he replies, fiddling with the paper in front of him. 

‘And Taylor’s producer will be along any minute, he said to get started without them but they’ll be here definitely before the session’s over, don’t worry.’ 

Brendon is a little intimidated by this news, he knew he was working with Taylor but kind of forgot the part where he’s actually **working with** **her**. But he nods regardless and just tries to focus on breathing and warming up his voice. 

The first couple takes aren’t brilliant, but he’s getting a better feel for the song by the third go. The tune needs some more mixing and fine-tuning, but he’s not totally averse to it. 

Taylor and her producer arrive about an hour and a half into his takes, he’s taken a break by then to rest his voice and work out what he’s going to say to her upon her entrance. As it happens, she enters just as he’s trying the track again, and he’s so taken aback he stalls on the line and she just smiles so wide at him. 

She keeps the smile in place and waves, so he gingerly waves back, then she presses the mic button and leans forward a bit. 

‘Hi, Brendon! So sorry I couldn’t be here for the whole session, but I had some urgent business. Thank you so much for coming on such short notice, I appreciate your help on this track so much, I’ve always admired your work!’ She keeps smiling so much Brendon thinks her face must hurt, but it looks so genuine he can’t help but return it. 

‘Honestly, this is the biggest honour for me,’ he replies, flailing his hands around for lack of something else to do with them, ‘I was so amazed when I got the call, I am just so… wow.’ He pauses in awe for a second, then snaps out of it and points to the mic. ‘I love the song, by the way. So full of energy.’ 

She pulls a pleased face and touches her hand to her heart, ‘That is so sweet of you to say! I’m so glad you like it, I’ve been working on it this whole winter, this and the whole album.’ He chuckles and looks down, not sure what else to add. Fortunately, she continues: ‘Hey, so I’m just going to have a little chat with these guys and listen to what we’ve got so far - I recorded the first half last night and this morning, so haven’t had the opportunity to listen thoroughly yet - so you can just chill in the other room and then we’ll talk about maybe getting in that booth together for some duetting!’ 

He nods and smiles again, then takes off the headphones and walks out of the booth to the waiting room across the hall. 

He waits for about 30 minutes before one of the producers, Joel, comes to get him and he’s lead back to the studio to talk through some of Taylor’s notes and opinions and they get back into the booth to record the adjustments. 

The afternoon passes very quickly, and Brendon believes he has absolutely charmed the pants off Taylor before the day is done, chatting and laughing with her through some of the takes. He tells Pete that he’s done at 10pm, who says one of his agents is on the way to finalise some of the details with Taylor’s team, and he’s instructed to wait for this person. He feels slightly like a child waiting for their mother after school, and only sends the guy a mildly irritated look when he arrives and tells Brendon he can leave. 

He gets home around 11:30pm, tired and worn-out and totally exhilarated. It’s been a while since he’s been in the studio recording music and he forgot how much fun he had. 

All lights are off in the house when he walks in, so he just quickly dumps his bag and goes to the kitchen to grab a snack bar before heading upstairs to bed. He tries really hard to be quiet, tiptoeing to the bedroom to prevent Sarah from waking up. 

‘Where’ve you been?’ Comes Sarah’s disembodied voice through the darkness as he opens the bedroom door. He curses internally and sighs, returning to a normal stance instead of his hunched over “cat burglar” posture. 

‘Sorry, I was out, I was trying not to wake you.’ He says back, voice low and tired. 

‘You could have left a note, or something.’ She replies bitterly, then turns onto her side, facing away from him, and pulls the covers up to her chin. 

He sighs and heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed, then crawls under the covers on his side, taking care not to pull too hard on the covers or accidentally touch Sarah’s legs with his cold feet, though he kind of wants to just to hear her shriek. 

He curls up into himself and feels like crying. 

‘Goodnight,’ he whispers. 

‘Mhm.’ 

He closes his eyes and wishes for a good dream.

* * *

_ ‘It’s been nearly a year now and it’s a tough thing when you’re in touch with people that long. I can see us being friends in the future but it’s going to take some time for everyone to get over it. It’s like when you break up with your girlfriend after five years it’s not like the next day you’re best friends with them again, is it? When we split I didn’t think anyone was going to take the name. I was shocked at the time but I understand it a bit more now because those guys are having a blast being in that band. I couldn’t expect everybody not to be having as much fun.’ _

* * *

Almost instantly after ‘Me!’ comes out, calls come flooding in asking for Brendon to do some more interviews and appearances. Pete lets him know about them all, earmarking ones he says have gentle interviewers and ones that have been suggested by Taylor’s team. He mostly leaves it to Pete, having a brief read of the highlighted ones and taking a couple off the list - they sound dumb and he wants it to seem like he has input. 

A couple interviews get confirmed for that week and the one following, and he tells Sarah he’s going to be busy for a while with all this stuff. She just gives him a look and says fine. 

She’s been steadily blocking hateful fans on social media, this new song setting off another round of abuse. He tried to talk to her about it, but she had brushed him off and said it wasn’t anything she wasn’t able to deal with. He wonders why it bothers her less now, but then thinks it’s a terrible thing to want someone to be upset. 

The first interview booked is with the YouTube channel of some musical news outlet, whatever, Brendon’s done shit like this a million times, he’s practiced now, it’s all routine. It even remains that way for most of the interview, staying mostly on what it was like working with Taylor, how the song came about (he’d been briefed on this by Taylor’s publicity team beforehand), what it was like shooting the video, etc. etc. Standard. Maybe he jinxed it, he doesn’t know, but it takes a dramatic turn for the worse. 

‘And, now I know you must be getting this a lot,’ the interviewer says, a young guy, maybe 20-25, with slicked hair and ripped jeans past their point of usefulness, surely, ‘but, you’ve just collaborated on this song with Taylor Swift, Ryan just collaborated on a song with Chance the Rapper, is there something going on there? Competition maybe?’ 

Brendon coughs a fake laugh into his mic and looks down, ‘Um, no, I mean, l love the song it’s great, and I’m happy for Ryan to be following his creative dream, and I’m super looking forward to the album, but,’

‘But is there - is there anything else going on behind the scenes with you two?’ The guy presses, leaning forward and trying to get eye-contact with Brendon, who’s still looking down as much as possible. 

‘No, really, there’s… there’s nothing. Look, I don’t super want to get into it, if that’s okay? I’d rather talk about-’ 

‘Yeah, of course, I was just wondering about whether you two,’

‘Really, dude, can we just move on, I don’t want to talk about-’ 

‘Come on, why not? I just wanna know your thoughts and opinions-’

‘Look, I’ve given all my thoughts and opinions again and again, ok?!’ Brendon interjects forcefully, raising his voice enough to send the interviewer sitting back, startled. 

‘Sorry, Brendon, I was only asking if there was something-’ 

‘Well, there’s not!’ He cries. ‘We’re not friends, his life isn’t my life anymore, we separated and whatever the fuck happened after that to either one of us is our own business and no one else’s, so just stop fucking **asking** about it.’ 

There is total silence in the small room where they’re recording. He sits back in his chair and waits a beat while the interviewer is frozen in place. Then, he can’t bear it anymore and pushes up out of the chair and storms out of the room. He hears the guy say something after he’s gone but he can’t be bothered to stick around to find out what it was. He just wants to leave, so he does. Drives far away from that prick and his stupid, dumb, stupid questions about Ryan. Why can’t anyone just let it go? 

Pete is, unsurprisingly but still terrifyingly, furious. He calls Brendon a million times (which Brendon sees but ignores) until he feels so guilty (and scared Pete will come to berate him in person instead) he picks up on almost the final ring of the latest call. 

He doesn’t have time to say anything before Pete is  _ screaming  _ down the phone. 

_ ‘WHAT the actual, everloving  _ **_FUCK_ ** _ were you thinking, Brendon?! I just got off the phone with Taylor’s agent and she is PISSED and I CANNOT blame her! You are in so much trouble it is not even  _ **_funny_ ** _ , what was going through your thick, stupid brain when you decided to say that, huh? WHY did you have to storm out of a fucking interview literally SECONDS after you release a risky collab with a singer? I cannot BELIEVE you right now, GOD it’s like babysitting a CHILD, and I have children, and none of them are as fucking UNBELIEVABLY FUCKING DUMB as YOU.’  _

Brendon just sits and takes it, knowing Pete will let up as soon as he either a) runs out of expletives, b) gets interrupted by one of his aforementioned children or Meagan. 

_ ‘So now I have to sort out this SHIT-STORM you have managed to create, and Taylor’s team are asking you to pull from the other interviews in the next couple weeks to make sure it blows over and doesn’t negatively affect the song’s release. You DUMB MOTHER _ **_FUCKER_ ** _. GOD, I sign a lot of stupid fucking idiots.’  _ He sighs loudly down the phone, then there’s some audible shuffling and Brendon just keeps waiting, head hanging pitifully.  _ ‘Are you home right now?’ _ Pete finally asks. 

Brendon shakes his head, ‘No, I’m currently in my car on the side of the road. Not totally sure where I am.’ 

_ ‘Get home. Now. I’m coming over later to talk about damage control. Just keep your head down and don’t do anything else so monumentally stupid in the few hours between now and when I see you, ‘kay?’  _

‘Okay.’ 

_ ‘Good. Bye you fucking tool.’  _

Brendon throws the phone onto the seat beside him and leans his head against the steering wheel. Jesus Christ he’s such a fucking moron, why couldn’t he have kept his cool it wasn’t even a particularly explosive comment from the guy, for crying out loud! 

He groans out loud then huffs a sigh and sits back up, turns the car on, puts it in gear and carefully negotiates his way back onto the road. He pokes a couple buttons on the dash and sets the navigation to get him back home in time to meet Pete. 

He arrives home before Pete gets there, thank God, so he has a chance to check if Sarah’s home, and if she is, then explain the situation to her before Pete has a meltdown in their living room. She is home, whipping up some gross smoothie again and dressed in her sports clothes. 

She looks up when he enters, says ‘Hey, how’d the interview go?’ in a calm tone, and Brendon sighs. Then  _ Anna _ fucking rounds the corner from the connecting dining room and Brendon rolls his eyes. 

‘I didn’t know  _ she  _ was going to be here,’ he spits, and Anna grimaces at him. Sarah looks between the two of them and shakes her head. 

‘Come on, you two. Brendon, be nice. Tell me how the interview went.’ She leans back against the counter and Brendon moves over to perch on the back of the couch, Anna leans against the archway between the rooms so Brendon can easily ignore her. 

‘Um, it didn’t go so well, actually. I mean… it started fine, and then he asked some question and I got kinda riled up and stormed off. So… Pete’s coming over in a bit to sort it all out.’ 

Anna scoffs so Brendon sends her a poisonous glare. Sarah takes a sip of her drink, swirling it around in the cup as she swallows. 

‘What did he ask?’ She replies. 

Brendon rubs his neck and looks up at her, ‘He kept pressing about, you know, Ryan and whether there was-’ 

‘Oh, Brendon!’ She interrupts. 

He holds his hands up defensively, ‘Ok, I’m sorry, but-’

‘When are you gonna let that guy go? Huh? He’s left enough of a mark on your entire career, why let him carry on?’ 

‘I know, ok, I know! I tried not to, to get wound up, but he’s just,’

‘He’s just still on your mind after all this time.’

‘That’s not what I-’

‘But it’s what you think.’ 

‘No, come on,’

‘No you come on. That’s really fucking stupid showing how weak you are in an interview like that.’ 

‘You don’t think I know that?’ 

‘Oh, I’m sure Papa Pete has made it crystal clear to you by now,’ 

‘What? Oh God, really? You’re gonna go there? I can’t believe-’

‘Oh yeah, defend yourself, like you don’t rely on him for everything in your life, like you can do  _ anything-’ _

‘Because where are you whenever I need any kind of help or support, huh? Tell me that, Sarah, why don’t you?’ 

‘I’m not your mother, Brendon, I don’t need to be here all the time to keep you happy,’ 

‘No, because you’re off tending to fucking Anna over me, ain’t that right?’ 

‘Don’t bring her into this!’ 

‘Like she hasn’t already been brought in,’ 

‘Here we go again, turning it to blame it on me, like always!’ 

‘I don’t do that,’

The doorbell goes, cutting them both off and ending the fight abruptly. They stare each other down for a second longer before Brendon breaks first and looks down, rubs his hands on his jeans. 

‘We should probably get going, Sarah,’ Anna pipes up from her dark corner, ‘You can come get ready at mine, borrow some of my clothes.’ 

‘Where are you-’ Brendon starts. 

‘Like you care.’ Sarah cuts in, then she turns to Anna, ‘Yeah, let’s go.’

They move off together, Anna placing a hand comfortingly on Sarah’s back as Brendon watches with a twisted feeling in his stomach. He clenches his jaw hard to get rid of it so his ears start ringing. They open the door to leave and Brendon hears some quiet greetings, then the door closes again and footsteps make their way down the hall. 

Pete rounds the corner, looking left and right around the room before stopping on Brendon and putting on his serious face. 

‘You are in the doghouse, mister.’ He starts, pointing his finger first and then resting his hands on his hips. 

‘I know. I’m sorry.’ Brendon mumbles, and hangs his head to look more remorseful. 

‘Sorry doesn’t really cut it here, actually. I’ve spent most of my time this afternoon trying to convince Mike not to run the interview with zero luck. He said it was gold and they’d blown so much money on getting you in and setting up that his boss wanted whatever they recorded. So, the interview’s going to go live tomorrow 5pm, nothing I can do about it.’ Pete stops and runs his hand through his hair, obviously in exasperation. 

Brendon shuffles uncomfortably and looks up at Pete mournfully, ‘I’m really,  _ really  _ sorry, Pete. I didn’t mean to.’

Pete sighs, ‘I know you didn’t, Brendon, but you’ve  _ got  _ to learn to control this! That’s rule numero uno! Control the situation! Know your answers, practice them so no one can trip you up or get a rise.’

‘Is Taylor really mad?’ Brendon asks, rubbing his arm. 

‘No, she’s been very understanding, doesn’t regret working with you or anything, she’s just adamant now that she’ll handle the press until further notice.’ Pete sighs and moves over to sit beside Brendon on the back of the couch. ‘Look, I know this isn’t easy, and I understand you’re going through.... something... but you’ve got to make a decision about how to move forward, what you’re going to put out into the world. You can choose to be angry, bitter, and resentful about everything that’s happened and is happening… or you can let it go and move on, bask in the amazing stuff you have right now. It’s up to you, Brendon.’ 

He looks at Pete and nods, ‘I know. I’ll get it together, I promise. I’m really grateful to you, Pete.’ 

Pete smiles, ‘Damn straight, y’are. Just keep your head down for a while, it’ll all blow over. Take a couple days for some R&R, hell, you could even go on holiday! Just don’t make waves, ‘kay?’ 

‘Okay.’ 

‘Promise?’ Pete holds out his pinky finger and raises his eyebrows. 

Brendon laughs, ‘Really?’ 

Pete sends him a pointed look, ‘I mean, can you blame me?’ Brendon rolls his eyes and locks his pinky finger with Pete’s and they shake, laughing softly. When they release the hold, Pete rubs his hands on his thighs and looks at Brendon for a beat longer, a more calculating stare that Brendon can feel but doesn’t lock eyes with. 

‘Okay then,’ Pete finally says, pushing himself up off the couch, ‘I’m gonna bounce. Lemme know if you need anything, yeah? Anything at all.’ 

Brendon looks up into Pete’s sincere face and nods, smiling slightly. ‘Of course, Pete, but I’m fine, thanks. But thank you for sorting this, sorry again.’ 

Pete waves him off, ‘It’s fine, honestly it gave me something to do and an excuse to talk to Taylor Swift again so I’m chill. Just don’t do it again, okay?’ 

Brendon nods again and they say goodbye before Pete leaves the house, once again plunging him into silence and a deep, churning feeling he doesn’t know how to name. 

The next day, when the interview is released, he feels sick. He knows everyone will see it and judge him, that it will be used as ammunition in every argument, interview, appearance, show, whatever, for the foreseeable future, and he just doesn’t have the strength to think about it. Pete warns him in advance to stay off social media for a bit, as he’s sure that’s where most of the less favourable comments will spawn. He deletes the Twitter app off his phone just to be cautious and tries to tough it out.

About a week later, when even staying off Twitter hasn’t shielded him from the impact of the interview, he’s sitting on his couch watching reruns of Seinfeld when his phone buzzes. He glances down to check the name but it’s an unknown number. Well, a number he hasn’t saved into his phone - intentionally or not, he doesn’t know. 

He picks up the phone and swipes to open the message, reading it a couple of times in an attempt to glean its sender from the style or language. 

_ ‘Hey, I saw the interview. You OK?’  _

He holds the phone delicately in his hands, staring at the message. He hovers his thumbs over the screen multiple times, undecided about what to type out. 

_ ‘Sorry who is this?’  _

He hits send and waits, hoping whoever’s on the other end hasn’t thrown their phone down and walked away so he can get a quick response. He’s beginning to get impatient, he’s not sure why he shouldn’t really be this nervous about a text, but he doesn’t like not to be in control of the situation. As he’s about to double text the ellipses appear in the bottom left corner of the screen and he breathes a sigh of relief. 

_ ‘Oh. Sorry it’s Ryan. I just wanted to make sure you were all right that interview looked kind of brutal.’  _

Brendon stares at the screen and feels a welling in his chest that makes him really want to cry. He presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth to prevent any stray tears from falling. 

_ ‘Leave me alone Ryan you’ve ruined my life enough already I don’t need your sympathy’  _

He locks his phone and cradles his head in his hands, groaning softly. When did this become his life. 

Then, as if the universe knows to kick him when he’s down, his phone starts ringing. He looks over at the screen and sees the number he now identifies as Ryan’s. He grabs the phone and presses the lock button to decline, like fuck he’s answering that call. 

He unlocks his phone and clicks back onto Ryan’s text. 

_ ‘Don’t call me jackass leave me alone’ _

Ryan messages back immediately,  _ ‘please dude I’m sorry. I’m talking to my PR people now to see if we can help at all. I feel really bad we shouldn’t have to deal with this and no one seems to get it.’  _

He stops, not expecting that kind of maturity and consideration from someone he long ago wrote off as an egotistical fuckwad who’d do anything to get his own way regardless of the consequences. He’s thrown and takes a while to respond. 

_ ‘Thanks. I didn’t think anyone understood.’ _

Ryan’s message pings back through instantly,  _ ‘I got you bro’ _ . 

* * *

_ ‘Do you ever see a day when Ryan and Jon would be ready to come back to the band, or is this split a permanent one?’ _

_ ‘It seems pretty permanent. We realized when we were splitting that Ryan and Jon wanted to do something totally different, and so did we. So we didn't want to compromise anybody's ideas, and make anybody unhappy with the product that we had come out with. And it was so important to us that we didn't want to ruin our friendship, and luckily we decided that, musically, that's what we had to do, in order to save ourselves as friends.’ _

_ ‘Have you heard the Young Veins record?’ _

_ ‘I have, yeah.’ _

_ ‘Do you like it?’ _

_ ‘I do like it. It's funny, actually, I think that we won't have to get back together, because whatever Ryan and Jon do, I'm still going to be a fan of. I'm still a fan of both of their talents, and they've also expressed their love and support for our stuff as well. It feels really good.’ _

* * *

December rolls around lazily, the year feeling like it’s stretching to maximum capacity for Brendon, whose life has been tilting perilously close towards the edge of tolerable. 

Ryan had stayed true to his word and actually arranged for Brendon and Taylor to perform ‘Me!’ at the Billboard awards which had effectively erased Brendon’s mess-up from the preceding month. This had also sparked a lot more press and the organisation of more performances across the states, meaning he had been semi-touring for the latter half of the year and was only properly settling back down into his LA life. 

He’s also been getting chided by his label to produce a new album, something that they can put out preferably before March, but he’s struggling. He wonders sometimes if his creativity has just run dry after all this time. 

December also brings with it the release of Ryan’s album, which Brendon has been stoically pretending is not happening. Another single was released around October to drum up some more interest and a tour is in the works for him; a large one by the sounds of things. 

They haven’t communicated since that one single text conversation in May, not even after Brendon had found out it was Ryan’s team who had pulled the strings for the BBMAs. 

‘Have you listened to the album yet?’ Pete asks casually, pouring some coffee into his travel mug then moving over to add milk and sugar. 

Brendon raises his eyebrows innocently, ‘Um, no, not yet. You?’ 

Pete stirs his coffee and pops the silicone lid back over the top of the cup. He turns to face Brendon, ‘Yeah, I have. It’s really good. You should listen, you may get asked about it one of these days, it would be good to have a response ready.’ 

Brendon turns away from Pete to pour his own coffee - in a paper cup because he forgot his own travel one. ‘Maybe… has Spencer heard it?’ 

‘Um, I’m not sure, probably. He always supported Ryan as much as he could, I can’t imagine he’s changed that philosophy too drastically in the last 10 years.’ 

‘Well, I’ll listen to it eventually.’ 

Pete nods and sips his coffee, ‘It’s at number 1, you know? The whole album at the top of the charts right now. Everyone absolutely loves it.’ 

Brendon heaves a sigh, ‘Okay, Pete, I get it. I’ll listen to it. Just… in my own time?’

Pete nods slowly and shrugs, ‘Okay, okay, I’ll let it go. How’s your album coming?’ 

Brendon groans. 

‘That good, huh?’ 

‘I just… have no inspiration at the moment. Maybe it’s the cold, the weather, I don’t know.’

‘If you need a break, Brendon…’

‘No,’ Brendon cuts in, shaking his head and frowning, ‘It’s not that, I’m fine. It’s just recently I’ve been feeling pretty tired and music has been the last thing I wanna do right now.’ 

Now it’s Pete’s turn to frown, ‘But you love writing music?’ 

He receives a shrug in response as Brendon finishes mixing his coffee and they both turn to move off to the office for a meeting. 

‘I know, normally I do. I think it’s definitely the weather.’ Brendon walks slightly faster than Pete out of the room down the corridor, and Pete looks at him with concern as they walk towards the room. 

When Brendon gets home that night Sarah’s left a note that she’s out dancing with Anna and won’t be home till the very early hours of the morning. He flicks it into the trash and dumbs his bag on the couch. 

There’s a microwaveable meal in the fridge that he heats up for his dinner and takes it with him on a plate into his studio, sitting in front of his laptop and setting the plate down on the desk. He opens up the app he uses to mix his music and sits, looking at the blank project dolefully. After about 5 minutes he lets out a frustrated moan and exits the app, tapping his fingers irritably on the mousepad. 

‘For fucks sake, just listen to it already,’ he mumbles angrily, leaning forward and opening Spotify. He types in Ryan Ross and up pops the artist page, complete with a sexy, moodily-lit profile picture and the top 5 most streamed songs of his currently. ‘Tell Me What’ still sits proudly atop the list, quickly followed by some of the new songs from the album. He scrolls down the page to find the album section and clicks the icon for the newest release: ‘Fragile People’. The first song on the tracklist is one called ‘Damn Outcast’ and he double clicks it to start playing out loud through his speaker system. 

He sits for the whole 55 minutes, slowly chewing his food and listening intently to the music flowing through the room. When the last track ends he’s a bit startled, opening his eyes though he wasn’t aware he closed them. 

It’s fucking good. That album.... it’s a masterpiece. 

Somehow it’s almost worse that it’s brilliant; that after all this time Ryan can still just bang out something totally, effortlessly incredible where Brendon has had to slave and slave for a decade. Momentarily, he gets so blindly angry he imagines hurling the laptop across the room and watching it smash into a million pieces, but instead just sits and breathes very intensely. 

Why does this affect him so much? He should be happy for Ryan, congratulate him on his amazing effort. He thinks he should send him a text, saying he loves the album, but his ego is still too bruised - from his outburst at the interview, Ryan coming to the rescue, and now Ryan topping the charts with his comeback album. 

It’s hard to be happy for Ryan when he’s got everything Brendon ever wanted in a fraction of the time. 

The thing to pull him from his miserable reverie is his phone buzzing, and he looks over to see Spencer’s name lighting up the screen. He reaches over and swipes to answer. 

‘Hey,’ 

_ ‘Hey, Brendon, are you busy?’ _

Brendon stares at the Spotify window open in front of him, ‘No, what’s up?’ 

_ ‘You wanna hang out? Linda’s off doing something to do with work and I’m bored to death. You can come over?’  _

He doesn’t want to acknowledge how grateful he is to Spencer for contacting him right then, offering some kind of distraction from how he might feel about Ryan’s work. 

‘Damn, man, yeah sure. I’ll be there soon?’ 

_ ‘Awesome, see you then!’ _

Brendon hangs up and shuts his laptop gently. He rubs his face with one hand then pushes up from the chair to go get his stuff so he can leave. 

Traffic in LA is notoriously bad, and Brendon sits watching through the petrol haze as his car presses up against the car in front, the road looking more and more like a can of sardines every second. He taps the steering wheel impatiently and then reaches to turn on the radio. 

The stereo system starts cheerfully humming some white noise pop song and Brendon tries to lose himself in its monotonous rhythm. His fingers start tapping a little faster on the steering wheel and he finds himself becoming more and more anxious, more on-edge. He frantically stabs the controls to make the music stop and breathes erratically for several seconds. 

A car horn trumpets loudly right behind him and he realises the traffic is clearing and he hasn’t made any move to follow it. He waves to the driver at his rear and puts the car into gear, rolling down the window to let the musty, dirty LA air buffett his face. 

When Spencer opens the door to him, he’s all smiles, pulling Brendon close in a comforting embrace and greeting him jovially. 

‘So glad you were free, man,’ Spencer says, ushering Brendon into the hallway and closing the door, ‘I always think I’m going to like sitting around watching TV all day but I end up going stir crazy!’ 

Brendon laughs and hangs his coat on the stand already heaving with those belonging to Spencer and Linda. He hopes it’s strong enough not to collapse under the weight of their wardrobe. 

‘It’s fine, as I said I wasn’t doing anything, glad for the distraction really.’ 

Brendon marches through to the kitchen with Spencer hot on his heels, sending him a concerned look he can’t see as he makes his way straight to the fridge. 

‘Oh yeah? Distraction from what? Everything all right?’ 

Brendon has his head stuck in the fridge, scoping out what’s on offer, but sighs at the familiar, plaintive tone of Spencer’s voice. He was always such a mama-bear. He grabs a lite beer and turns back to Spencer, shutting the fridge firmly. 

‘Really, I’m fine. I don’t know what Pete’s told you…’ 

‘Pete?’ Spencer frowns, ‘Pete hasn’t told me anything. Brendon, what’s going on?’ 

He gapes, now at a loss for words. 

‘If there’s something wrong-’ 

‘No, seriously,’ Brendon interjects, putting a hand up to stop Spencer continuing down this path they know all too well. ‘I’m fine. Just the weather, like I said to Pete. The clouds really get to me, I don’t know why.’ He takes an overenthusiastic gulp of his beer and it bubbles over the rim of the bottle, fizzing down the side of the glass and onto Spencer’s nice, clean countertop. He swears and flicks some of the liquid off his hands onto the surface, splaying his fingers wide. Spencer rushes to his aid, telling him to hold still, he’ll get the cloth. 

Spencer wipes the counter as Brendon holds the bottle up in the air, then he passes the cloth to Brendon so he can wipe down the bottle and his sticky hand. The cloth then gets catapulted back into the sink and Brendon takes another, less fervent gulp from the bottle. 

‘How’s Linda?’ Brendon eventually asks, after the silence between them has stretched too long and is no longer comfortable. 

Spencer shrugs, ‘Good, good. We’re doing really well, she’s working pretty hard at the minute but we get enough time to go out some and also chill here at home. We were actually talking about moving a little while ago,’ Brendon starts a little, eyebrows raised, and Spencer catches the expression, ‘don’t worry,’ he continues, ‘we decided against it. We figured there’s no point moving until we have reason to, and we don’t, yet.’ 

‘What would be the reason?’ Brendon asks, frowning, half-knowing the answer to his question already. 

The long look Spencer gives him confirms exactly what he thought so he nods before the words can be said. 

‘Gotcha.’ 

‘Look, man, it wouldn’t be for a while, and you’ve gotta see this from our perspective,’

‘No, no, I know, I get it,’ Brendon hurries to reassure his friend, ‘you guys have your life, not everyone wants to raise kids in the middle of LA, it’s totally understandable.’

‘We probably wouldn’t even go far, Brendon, maybe Thousand Oaks or Bakersfield.’

Brendon scoffs, ‘Or San Jose or Sacramento. Come on, we both know you’d move far out of Los Angeles, there are good schools further north.’

A tense silence falls over them, and Brendon loses his thirst for the lite beer in his hand, sliding it slightly away from him while he looks straight ahead, ignoring the pained look on his friend’s face which tells him all he doesn’t want to hear. 

‘Look,’ Spencer finally says, sounding strained, ‘I know things aren’t exactly rosey for you at the moment,’ Brendon tries to interrupt but Spencer talks straight over him, ‘but I’m here for you if you need me, it’s not my fault if you don’t want to talk about it. Yes, eventually Linda and I are planning to have kids and move out of the city, but that’s not for a while yet, and I’m here right now which should be what matters.’ 

They fall back into silence for a moment, before Brendon looks over to make eye contact with his best friend of 10 years. 

He smiles slightly, ‘Okay, I got it. Sorry, of course. Why don’t we go watch some TV or something, huh?’ 

Spencer smiles a relieved smile at him and nods emphatically, ‘Yes, that sounds good.’ 

They spend the rest of the day blissfully calm, carefully skirting around any uncomfortable topics and generally just enjoying each other’s company. When Brendon makes a move to leave, Spencer makes a face that looks like he’s about to deliver some heartfelt lecture and Brendon really isn’t in the mood. He holds up his hand, shakes his head, and pulls Spencer into a tight hug instead. 

‘You’ll tell me if anything’s wrong, right?’ Spencer asks, squeezing Brendon just this side of uncomfortably tight. 

‘Of course.’ Brendon replies, but feels a tingling of a lie in his words, even though he’s always honest with Spencer. 

When he gets home, he heads straight for his studio, not minding that the sky outside is pitch black and the clock reads a menacing time at him, when he should really be tired and going to bed. 

He sits in his chair and stretches his arms above his head, twirling in a circle on the chair as he does so. Then, his eyes catch the box of Panic! paraphernalia he pushed under the side table months ago now. He chuckles lightly and moves over to the box, kneeling on the floor and pulling it in front of him. He removes the lid and carefully sorts through the debris, pushing past everything back to the wad of photographs he knows is in there under something. 

The first picture in the rotation is the one he left off on: him and Ryan, embracing, looking starry-eyed out into the empty seats of their first big stadium tour. He moves it to the back of the pile, eyes scurrying over the pictures that follow: Spencer at the drums during soundcheck, Jon tuning his bass on the floor barefoot, Pete making a silly face at the camera, Brendon messing around on the tour bus wearing all the band’s clothes at once. The next one is a very early attempt at a group selfie, where he can remember forcing Ryan to take it because he had the longest arms and he insisted that no one else could take it for them because this way it was a close-up, more personal. All their faces are squished together in the small frame, Ryan’s front and centre, Brendon with his cheek pressed against the top of Ryan’s head peeking in the left-hand corner, Spencer is tipped above Brendon and Ryan, and Jon is smushed into the right-hand side of the picture. All of them look so drunkenly happy. He looks at the picture for a long time, then puts it aside, away from the pile, in case he wants to look at it later. 

The next picture to greet him is one of Ryan, clearly taken in the early morning - Brendon can see the duskiness of the light in the photo, the sun peaking through the slightly open windows at the back of the tour bus where the picture was taken. Ryan is curled up on one of the sofas they had at the rear of the bus, his notebook is open in his lap and his hand is poised over one page with his pen grasped loosely. He must have  _ just _ caught sight of the camera, as his eyes are locked on it but not yet focussed, and a smile is just beginning to break across his face. Brendon can’t help but think how beautiful he looks in that photo, how happy and lit-up from the inside. 

He looks at the photo for a very long time. 

Ryan goes on his world tour, the publicity for it is incredible, Brendon sees it everywhere without even trying. Although, once it’s in his head, he can’t help but try to keep up with Ryan’s whereabouts, if he’s performing anywhere they’ve performed together, he wants to know. He tracks Ryan’s movements like a sniffer-dog chasing a jailbreaker. 

This, of course, does not do wonders for his own efforts to complete his album, which his producers and agents are getting more and more agitated about. All he ever hears is “So when’s the album going to be finished, Brendon? We’d like to get a New Years Release!”, to which his answer is always “I’m working on it.” 

He’s just so frustrated with trying and trying and failing time and again. It’s exhausting and frankly he’s not sure he can cope with it anymore. Ever since his talk with Spencer about moving out of LA, he’s been distant with his friend, he’s not sure why. Just quietly pulling away, as if anyone would notice anyway. He could drop off the face of the earth and the only words ringing out after him would be: “Is the album finished yet?”. 

Sarah senses his morose demeanour but elects to handle it by getting out of his way. Occasionally she tries to start fights with him, but none of them ever take. He’s given up on the repartee and become a punching bag, which isn’t as satisfying she decides. 

He often spends the night in his studio, and the nights he doesn’t Sarah goes to Anna’s for a late night which turns into a late morning which turns into a long weekend, often in the middle of the week. 

Many hours in the studio are not spent productively. Mostly they are spent poring over the contents of the box from the attic, flipping through the photos, the CDs, the t-shirts and tour brochures again and again, grasping for any kind of inspiration he can find. The group selfie has been taped to the wall, and he looks at it a lot to remind him he was happy, once. The picture of Ryan he keeps in his top drawer of the desk, though he doesn’t ever take it out. 

Then, one day, he just… can’t. He’s exhausted after another fight with Sarah and another harsh meeting where he’s pushed back the studio time to record the album, and he just… opens the drawer to find a new pen and sees the photo and… something in him just clicks right then and there. He goes into autopilot and picks up his phone. 

_ ‘Hey. I hope tour is going good I saw it’s a long one. I just wanted to say thank you for before with your PR people and whatever. It meant a lot to me. Hope you’re good.’  _

He clicks send and waits, staring at his phone. Was that a dumb idea? Oh God, was that just a stupid thing to do? He puts the phone on the desk and clutches at his hair, tugging it in his fists. He turns suddenly to check the clock: 2am. 

‘Shit!’ he exclaims, picking the phone back up and frantically typing into Google ‘what time is it in Tokyo right now’. He glares as the answer of 7pm shines brightly up at him. Ryan will be backstage at the venue by now, probably listening to his warm-up act and psyching himself up for the show (if he still does that). 

He immediately regrets sending the damned text and decides to just not think about it until tomorrow. He’ll only reply something crazy if Ryan did reply immediately anyway, so best to just not bother until he’s gotten some rest. Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he makes his way to the bedroom, which is still dark and empty as Sarah hasn’t been back in a couple of days. 

Just as he’s about to close his eyes to drift off, having neglected to put on his pyjamas (sleeping instead in his underwear) or brush his teeth, his phone pings and he tries not to sit up too fast to check it. 

_ ‘That means a lot, Brendon. How are you doing?’  _

He doesn’t reply, his eyes suddenly so heavy, but goes to sleep smiling for the first time in what feels like a decade. 


	2. one day feels like forever without you

_ ‘So you guys are currently in the studio writing, how is that going?’  _

_ ‘Um… it has its ups and downs, obviously when you’re working with a lot of people it can be difficult to get something down immediately and… I mean it’s not a bad thing, just, um, you can have a lot of voices in one room and that does mean that you know the song is gonna be great when it’s done, but sometimes it can be a little frustrating.’ _

_ ‘Totally, and, um, is it very weird being in the studio without, without, Ryan and Jon? Because this will be your first album out without them.’  _

_ ‘Yeah… it is weird. Like, you get used to, um, to having people there and having peoples’ inputs but… as we’ve said before it’s better for everyone and everyone’s, um, creative process that we are now separate working on our own stuff to, to make that stuff true to us and, uh, true to the fans really.’  _

* * *

Honestly, he’s not expecting it to turn into anything, after that text, but things have a funny way of figuring themselves out regardless of what you want. 

He had replied the moment he woke up, standing in his underwear in front of his coffee machine, smiling at his phone like a lunatic. 

_ ‘I’m ok, thanks. Sorry, didn’t mean to randomly message you, but wanted to tell you thanks. Been a bit of a dick recently.’  _

He had happily sipped his coffee when it was ready and stared at the screen for a while, despite the fact it would be the middle of the night in Tokyo and Ryan definitely wouldn’t still be awake. He had started his morning lazily, going about his normal routine more idly than he would any other day, spending time washing his face, shaving, and picking out an outfit for the day. He had felt lighter for those few hours than he had in years. 

By the time he had made his way to the studio to lock himself away and write, Ryan had replied. 

_ ‘Don’t apologise, it’s a nice surprise :) glad to hear you’re ok. it’s weird touring again’ _

Brendon had had to bite his lip to restrain his wide smile, and quickly typed out his response. 

_ ‘how long since you last toured?’ _

Then he had paused, chewed the inside of his cheek, and typed again: 

_ ‘i like the album by the way. it’s really really good.’ _

He hadn’t even bothered putting down the phone to feign busyness, instead had watched the screen until Ryan had responded. 

_ ‘about 9 years hahaha ☐ and thank you that means a lot I didn’t know you’d listened to it’  _

_ ‘of course i listened to it man, you’re still a great writer.’  _

They carried on like this on and off for a few days, chatting about whatever came to them in the moment; tours, rent, weather, food, music, money, press. Brendon is honestly glad for the escape, his own life had become a bit too heavy of late. 

More recently, Ryan had been bitching about the climate in Australia, as winter for the US was summer for them. Brendon had been attentive but gently reminded Ryan he was lucky to be out there. 

He is replying to one such message about Australian chocolate when he receives a call from his agent - again. He moans and scrunches up his face in annoyance. He’s been successfully avoiding these calls for weeks and doesn’t really want to break that streak. He waits too long and it rings off to voicemail, and he blows out his breath through his teeth. Then the voicemail notification pops up and he winces. 

He clicks the notification and holds the phone up to his ear, cursing the stupid phone company that they feel the need to alert him to the fact he’s called his voicemail and reading out the number digit by digit. Finally he gets to the message: 

_ ‘Hey, Brendon, it’s Mark, I was hoping to catch you but I suppose you’re away from your phone… again, um, I do really need to speak to you about the winter show coming up, we need your input ASAP or it won’t be able to go ahead, and, bud, you really need this. Please give me a ring when you’re around, when, when you get this. Hope you’re well. Ok. Bye.’  _

He hangs up and chews his cheek where he’s formed a small ulcer. He should probably call his agent back. He had kind of forgotten about the winter show he’s supposed to be doing. He’d ruled out Thanksgiving months ago, they were supposed to spend it at Sarah’s parents’, but last minute he’d insisted she go alone and she’s given him a sad, disappointed look but hadn’t argued. Now he’s kind of wishing he’d booked the stupid show for then, instead. Christmas is right around the corner and he can’t bring himself to work up the motivation to buy presents, let alone rehearse an entire set. Still, Pete will be on his ass if he doesn’t reply at some point, and he could use a distraction aside from the texts he and Ryan periodically exchange. 

Finishing typing the text he was going to send to Ryan, he sends it off and clicks back onto Mark’s phone number to call him back. 

It rings twice and he picks up. 

_ ‘Hello?’ _

‘Hi, Mark, it’s Brendon. I just got your message,’

_ ‘Brendon! Thank you so much for getting back to me this time,’  _ Mark enthuses, but Brendon senses the chill behind the words. 

‘Yeah… sorry, I’ve been a bit preoccupied at the moment.’ 

_ ‘No worries, no worries at all. Just wanted to talk to you about this winter show? We’ve narrowed it down to a couple of opportunities and just wanted your input on which you’d prefer and a sign-off on the setlist.’  _

Brendon coughs a little, and nods, ‘Sure, sure, sure, go ahead.’

_ ‘Amazing,’  _ Mark sighs down the line,  _ ‘so we’ve got one in Inglewood at The Forum on the 28th, or you can go for the 5th in Anaheim at the Honda Center. Your call, bud.’  _

Brendon thinks for a moment, running his top teeth over his bottom lip like a harmonica. Inglewood is closer, but the 28th is in a couple of weeks. Maybe that’s better, just get it over with. 

‘Um… I guess Inglewood? That would be fine.’ 

Mark hums approvingly down the line,  _ ‘Awesome, thanks. Ok, and the setlist… We have High Hopes, Victorious, Feels like Christmas, Say Amen, and then Jingle Bells. That sound good? You’re not on for long, it’s a small segment in a Christmas show they’re doing, right?’ _

Sounds kind of shitty to Brendon but he doesn’t want to rock the boat so just agrees with Mark and they say goodbye. 

He leans back in his studio chair and spins around once, abruptly stopping himself when his phone pings yet again. 

‘ _ I miss American chocolate though :( i’m not even gonna be back in time for xmas chocolate i’ve got so much press over the holidays plus the tour carries straight on after anyway’ _

To be fair, Ryan doesn’t really have many ties to the US when it comes to holiday seasons, he always used to look so dejected around the holidays when the other boys would return home jovial and excited. Still, it makes Brendon’s chest constrict with sympathetic sorrow for the guy having to spend his Christmas alone and abroad. 

_ ‘But the press is going fine, right?’ _ he quickly types back. A calmness has descended over Brendon recently, he attributes it to having someone to talk to about touring - an experience not a lot of people truly understand. Talking to Ryan about all this stuff… it’s almost therapeutic. It also reminds him of how things used to be, before the fights and the late night mediation and the silence. 

In the days he talks to Ryan he feels more stable than he has in months, years even. He starts seeing his friends more often, going out of the house and engaging in actual, social activities. He starts feeling more like himself, which makes him in turn realise how low he’s been feeling and for quite how long. 

The only apparent hurdle to his happiness is the resurgence of arguments between him and Sarah. Neither one of them is sure who’s more to blame with it, who starts the fights most often, but they’re always stupid. Always one too many snarky comments, a too-pointed look, or a misplaced sigh or roll of the eyes. They just get on each other’s nerves more now. He feels it more when he’s on his phone, replying to Ryan normally, feels her eyes watching him with what he construes as venom or envy or something he can’t quite name. 

Sometimes he calls her out on it, but all he receives in response are raised eyebrows and an “I didn’t say anything.” Most times he just shoots her back a look of defiance and she tends to walk away. 

On the 22nd he goes out with Spencer, Pete, Zack, and a load of other friends, many of whom he doesn’t know exceptionally well, for drinks at a bar to celebrate Christmas, or something. None of them bring their female counterparts - this is a night for the men. 

They order beers to start with (Spencer on the lite beer, obviously), taking it in turns to bring back the goods to the table they seize in the corner of the bar.

‘Oof,’ Pete groans three rounds in, ‘this beer, I swear to God, makes me so bloated.’ 

The others laugh, and Pete burps loudly, thumping his chest with his fist theatrically. 

‘Jesus, Pete,’ one of the other guys, Dave, Brendon thinks his name is, says, ‘what an old man thing to say, it’s only beer.’ 

Pete laughs but rolls his eyes, ‘Sure, dude, just wait till you’re my age and try downing beers, you’ll see it’s not so easy.’ 

At the fifth round, another man Brendon doesn’t know particularly well (he’s seen him in passing at the DCD2 offices) makes his way cautiously to the table, laden with shots of clear liquid. Everyone groans except Spencer who laughs mutely. 

‘You’ve gotta be kidding me?’ Zack huffs, running his hand down his cheek and looking at the guy who brought the shots over. 

The guy shakes his head, still smiling maniacally, ‘Nope! 20 shots of vodka. Let’s get this party started for real, right guys?’

Several of the guys shake their heads, but Brendon shrugs and says, ‘Sure, why not.’

The rest of the night passes in a multicoloured blur, punctuated in Brendon’s alcohol-induced haze by shouting and cheering and smiles that seem a little too wide. Brendon feels like he’s checked out of his senses, not really understanding anything that’s happening even in the moment it’s occurring. He feels himself crying at some point, Pete laying heavy hands on his shoulders and telling him he’s being ridiculous, then he hears himself laughing while telling a dirty joke and someone groaning loudly. Then, the next thing he knows, he’s being piled into a cab and the driver is telling him how much it will cost if he pukes in the back. He leans his head against the cool glass of the window as the rest of the world spins precariously outside the door of the cab. 

‘Big night, huh?’ the cabby asks, turning a bit too violently around a corner for Brendon’s liking.

He takes a deep breath and nods against the window, ‘Drinks with the boys,’

The cabby laughs and makes an understanding noise, ‘I feel you, brother. It’ll be worse tomorrow, trust me.’ 

Brendon tries to cough out a laugh but it sounds more like a retch and the driver looks at him worriedly from the rear-view mirror. 

‘Man, don’t ruin the night like that, or my cab’s back seat, for that matter.’ 

He waves a hand at the driver, and attempts a consoling smile, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep it in.’ 

They pass the rest of the short drive in silence, or they do in Brendon’s head as he quietly passes in and out of consciousness in the backseat - which the driver notices after an awkward number of unanswered questions. 

‘Sir? Sir? We’re here.’

Brendon blinks his eyes open and looks around with a very confused look on his face. 

‘We’re where?’

The cabby laughs, ‘Your house, man.’

‘Oh,’ Brendon eventually manages, squinting out the window suspiciously. But then, oh, yes, there’s his house. Silly him, not recognising his house. 

He pays the driver and says goodnight, then gets out of the cab and stumbles his way across the road and up his driveway. He awkwardly digs his keys out of his front pocket and places one hand on the door as he concentrates, trying to get the key into the lock. No luck. He tries again, and again, and again, until someone opens the door from the other side, and he has to catch himself pretty darn quick to stop himself falling face first onto his hardwood floors. He rights himself, swaying dangerously for a second before focussing on the person in front of him. Anna. She looks very unimpressed. 

‘Well, hello, Brendon. Nice of you to finally show up.’ She smirks mirthlessly, and Brendon scowls at her. 

‘What the fuck are you doing here, you harpy?’ Brendon spits back, but she just rolls her eyes. 

‘I’m just leaving so calm down, ok? Your wife,’ she says it with such resentment, ‘is in the kitchen.’ 

Then, she pushes past Brendon, who has to steady himself on the door jamb, and struts off down the driveway to her car. 

Brendon feels it, feels it building as he watches her stalk away from his house at 3am. Feels her smirk digging at a very vulnerable place deep inside of him. The anger, no, the  _ fury _ , bubbles up from inside him and he marches into the house, face like thunder, slamming the door behind him. 

He storms into the kitchen and sees Sarah by the sink, placing two empty wine glasses into the basin. She only glances up at him when he enters. 

‘You were out late,’ she starts, a sigh already in her voice. 

‘I just passed Anna on her way out.’ Brendon starts, louder than he realises. Sarah doesn’t really react. 

‘Yeah, she came over after our yoga class and we had dinner and some wine and when it became clear you weren’t coming back for a while she offered to keep me company.’ Sarah wipes her hands on the washcloth, then throws it down, and turns to Brendon with one hand on her hip, leaning slightly against the counter. 

‘Oh and was that all she offered, Sarah? Huh?’ He takes a step toward her. 

‘What are you talking about, Brendon?’ She frowns at him and shakes her head, ‘You’re drunk, just go to bed, would you?’

She makes a move to walk past him but he grabs her by the wrists tightly and holds them up to his chest height. 

‘You know what I’m talking about,  _ babe _ ,’ he snaps with derision, ‘I know you fuck her behind my back, think I don’t know, you’re a slut!’

She’s looking at him with wide, horrified eyes, jerking against his hold on her arms, which only makes him grip tighter, ‘Brendon, you’re hurting me, let me go!’

He shakes her hard and shouts ‘Admit it, Sarah! You’re fucking that bitch when I’m not here, whoring yourself out to her!’ 

‘Brendon let me go, for fucks sake, you maniac!’ Sarah looks increasingly desperate, alternating between staring at her husband and looking about her to find things to hit him with so he’ll back off. She’s never felt this kind of fear before, not least from her own husband, a man she once loved more than anything. 

Brendon doesn’t let her go, just continues screaming at her, ‘Just admit it! Admit you’re cheating on me with her! Don't fucking lie to me anymore, you cowardly slut!’ 

‘Brendon, stop! Please let me go!’ She starts crying, fat tears rolling down her face uncontrollably. He keeps shouting, spittle flying and rage in his face. By now he has yanked her so close the tears are dripping off her chin and onto his shirt, and after a second longer of looking into his furious gaze, she drops her head down and it lands on his chest. ‘Please,’ she whispers against his top, ‘Brendon, let me go.’ 

At this moment, Brendon looks down at his wife, sobbing against him, and where he’s gripping her wrists so tightly his knuckles have gone white and her hands a worrying shade of purple. He quickly lets her go and she gasps in relief, then he wraps his arms around her and whispers he’s sorry into her hair. 

She pulls away and unceremoniously wipes her runny nose on the sleeve of her shirt. 

‘You’re not sorry, though, Brendon, are you?’ She spits, voice somewhere between devastation and hostility. ‘You’re never really sorry for any of the shit you do. You just expect everyone else to love you so much they forgive you!’ 

‘Sarah,’ 

‘No!’ she explodes, taking several steps back from him, which feels like a dagger to the heart. ‘Anna is the only person in the world at the moment who makes me feel  _ normal _ . Who makes me feel like part of the world again. And for you of all people to say…’

‘What do you mean “me of all people”?’ Brendon interrupts, his tone rising once more. 

Sarah scoffs, ‘Please. You accuse me of cheating when you’re the one who’s having a virtual affair with an ex-bandmate who’s currently nearly 10,000 miles away!’ 

He steps back like she’s hit him. 

‘Yeah,’ she continues in a sickly joyous tone, ‘Bet you thought  _ I  _ didn’t know about  _ that _ , huh? Well, I do. Have known since the beginning. My hunch was only verified by those ridiculous old photos you keep in your office of him. I don't mind you not loving me as much anymore, but I can’t stand you loving him more.’ 

With that, she walks out of the kitchen in the opposite direction to him toward the guest room, and he hears the door lock with a horrible finality. 

He stares after her for a moment before hanging his head and rubbing his face, feeling a headache start throbbing like a tight band around his skull. Finally, he decides standing in the kitchen all night might not be the best course of action and turns on his heel and stumbles up the stairs to their bedroom. He shirks out of his clothes, leaving them where they land on the floor - not his biggest problem right now - and flops onto the bed face-first. He groans into his pillow and turns onto his side before wriggling under the sheets and pulling them up to his chin protectively. 

As his eyes are drifting closed, his phone beeps from the floor, and he remembers Ryan. Immediately he feels the regret and the guilt overwhelm him, making his stomach churn violently and his heart speed up. He almost can’t believe what he’s done… it’s not like him to be aggressive, especially not with Sarah. They’re passive-aggressive, sure, to get a rise out of one another, but not outright aggressive, and definitely not physically violent. And yet… here he is, lying in bed alone having physically assaulted his wife in a fit of drunken jealousy. He feels less than human, worthless and disgusting, and then thinks maybe he deserves to feel this way. 

He feels sleep start gripping the edges of his blurry consciousness and he vows never again, he doesn’t want to be that person, and he’ll try not to be, if she’ll let him. 

He wakes early the next morning with a poisonous hangover, sinking into his stomach and crushing his head ruthlessly. He groans out loud and cracks his eyes open ever so slightly. He jumps when he sees a dark figure in the room. 

‘Relax, it’s just me.’ Sarah says calmly, tone neutral and face smooth. ‘I brought you aspirin and some water. I’m going out, but I’ll be back later for dinner, ok?’ 

He nods and she puts the glass and the pills on the bedside table. 

‘Hey, Sarah?’ He calls quietly after her. She turns. ‘I’m sorry. Are you okay?’ 

She looks at him for a long moment then casts her eyes down. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ 

She pulls the door closed on her way out and Brendon sighs. He looks around for his phone and sees it’s no longer on the floor where he left it but by his leg on the bed. He twists awkwardly to pick it up and presses the home button to illuminate the screen. There are 5 missed texts from Ryan, the most recent of which reads  _ ‘Miss you too, B.’ _

The holidays are supposed to be joyous, but the couple spend the remaining days leading up to Christmas skirting around each other, strategically avoiding the other’s company and sturdily ignoring that they’re doing it. They prepare for Christmas day in silence, wrapping presents at opposite ends of the house and taking shifts decorating the rooms and small, fake tree set up in the living room. 

The big day itself is a pitiful affair, with a meagre pile of cards on the table from their friends and family, and a microwaveable vegetarian Christmas dinner Sarah bought a week ago. 

They exchange their gifts in the afternoon, after a pleading conversation at lunch from Brendon asking that they simply be civil for the day, it’s Christmas after all. They settle themselves in the living room, one at each end of the plush sofa and smile awkwardly. 

Brendon reaches down towards the tree uncomfortably and retrieves two small packages snuggled under its branches, surrounded by gifts from close friends and family.

‘Ok,’ he starts, checking the labels even though there’s no doubt whose is whose. ‘Here is your gift.’ He hands Sarah a small, square box in snowman wrapping paper. He bought it not too long ago off one of those sites where you can personalise basic gifts. She offers him a timid smile and takes the box from him. 

She unwraps it neatly, folding the paper beside her and turning back to the box to open it. Inside is a sterling silver chain necklace with a personalised pendant hanging daintily from it. 

‘What does SAU stand for?’ She asks immediately, brows furrowing a little.

Brendon throws her an incredulous look, ‘What are you talking about? They’re your initials.’ Sarah looks up at him with a completely unnameable expression on her face, mouth slightly hanging open. 

‘Um, no they’re not?’ She stares at her husband and he stares back, now frowning too and looking confused. 

‘Um, yes they are. Sarah Alice Urie.’

She makes a noise halfway between a sigh and a scoff and looks back at the necklace. 

‘My middle name is Elizabeth. Sarah Elizabeth Urie.’ She doesn’t return her gaze to meet Brendon’s and he feels a knot of shame and guilt tying itself firmly inside his stomach.

‘Shit, Sarah, I-’

‘No,’ Sarah interrupts him, ‘don’t worry about it.’ He closes his mouth, knowing well enough not to argue with her at this point, and casts his eyes down to wallow in misery for a second. 

‘Why,’ she breaks the silence, and he glances back up at her, ‘why don’t you open yours now.’ 

He nods and reaches into his lap to retrieve the thin package. He tears it at the top and prises the gift out of the wrapping. It is a Frank Sinatra Maple Leaf Gum card from the 1950s. He’s been wanting one for years to add to his (albeit strange) Frank Sinatra memorabilia collection. He stares down at the card with Frank’s face staring back. 

‘Wow, Sarah. This is amazing, thank you.’

He looks at her and attempts to look as genuine and grateful as possible. She doesn’t look back, just nods down at the necklace in her hands. 

‘Merry Christmas, Brendon.’ She finally says, sending him a strained smile and getting up off the couch and walking away into the back room. He hears the spare bedroom door shut and clenches his teeth to try and make the sick feeling in his stomach dissipate. 

He distracts himself by watching shitty Christmas Day TV until he gets hungry and has to venture into the kitchen. Sarah is sitting at the island counter, sipping a large glass of white wine and staring blankly into space. She flicks her eyes over to him when he enters the room and takes another sip of wine. 

‘Hey, I just came for some food. You want anything?’ He asks, but she shakes her head and looks down, swirling her wine gently in the glass. ‘Are you okay, Sarah?’ 

She stops her motion and sighs deeply, ‘People have been asking me that a lot lately.’ Then, she places the wine glass on the counter and puts her hand to her forehead. 

‘Do you wanna talk about it?’ He suggests quietly, moving forward to lean a hand against the opposite side of the counter to her. 

But she just shakes her head. Just as he’s about to move off to find some food, she starts, ‘You know, like, literally months ago, when you were working with Taylor, and you asked if I was happy?’ 

Brendon nods slowly, he has no recollection of this occasion, ‘Yeah, I remember.’

‘Well, I’m not sure I am anymore. I… I thought things maybe… maybe that they would get better and we’d push through whatever… whatever this is we’ve been going through, but. Well, we just seem to be drifting further and further apart.’

‘Maybe we should go see someone. Y’know, like a therapist or something. We used to be really happy.’ He leans closer to her and keeps his voice low, acknowledging the delicacy of the moment. 

Sarah looks up into his eyes and he sees a total sadness there that cuts him deeply. She looks at him for a moment longer then takes a deep inhale and leans back, away from him, so she’s sitting upright. 

‘Yeah… maybe. If you think it would help.’ 

He reaches slowly across the counter towards her, but stops his hand before he can touch her, he doesn’t want to step out of line again. 

‘I’m sorry I’m not enough.’ He says, sullenly. 

Sarah just laughs brittlely, ‘Don’t be stupid. What a stupid thing to say.’ She reaches out and puts her hand over his and he turns their hands so they can grasp each other properly. ‘You were always enough,’ she continues, ‘just maybe not the right enough anymore.’

* * *

_ ‘I met Sarah while touring for Pretty.Odd. She was dating someone else at the time, but I couldn't get her out of my mind. By some good fortune and some help from mutual friends, we met up again 8 months later when she happened to be single. We've been smiling with each other ever since. Goddamn, she's amazing.’ _

* * *

The next day Sarah leaves him. 

She sits him down beforehand, a bag already packed when he wakes up. She tells him they’re not in love anymore and there’s nothing really left between them to salvage, they’re not worth the pain of staying together. Then, she kisses him on the forehead, gets up, and walks out the door to go stay with her parents for a while. 

He sits for a long time on the sofa after she’s left, staring at the black screen of the TV totally numb. He can see his reflection in the dark glass and is caught, transfixed, on his black and empty eyes, staring back at him the same bleak expression. 

When he next looks up, away from the screen, night has fallen, and he furrows his brow, glancing over at the clock on the oven to check he’s not crazy. The clock reads 7:34pm. He sighs and rubs his hand over his face roughly, debating whether he cares enough to get up, suddenly realising he hasn’t eaten anything all day. His stomach feels off but a demanding voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Spencer tells him he has to eat something. 

He ends up eating plain Doritos while lying sideways on the couch watching infomercials on the shopping channel until he passes out. 

The days from Christmas up to New Years pass for Brendon as one, long, dark cloud, broken only by the cancelling of his New Years show and pushing it to the Anaheim option on the 5th. He stops keeping track of his sleep, his meals, his hygiene, his messages. He lets it all go; what’s the point? He knows people are trying to get in contact with him, sees the hundred messages a day from Spencer, Pete, Zack, even his mother. And Ryan. Ryan who’s asking him if he’s OK, if he had a good holiday, if he managed to watch all the Christmas films he wanted to this year, if that’s something he even does anymore. Ryan who made everything so much better it fell apart. He just can’t deal with it, so he puts his phone on silent and ignores everything. 

Of course, this doesn’t last long, because Spencer doesn’t quit so easily. It’s New Years Day when Spencer turns up at his door unannounced. 

Brendon opens the door slowly, and, seeing Spencer, pulls it wide enough for him to slip in. Once the door is closed Spencer looks him up and down and Brendon can see the widening of his friend’s eyes: he doesn’t blame him. He hasn’t showered since Christmas, or shaved for that matter. He’s wearing a horrible old t-shirt riddled with holes and covered in various stains, and sweatpants that are basically rigid from sweat and old food spills. 

‘I heard what happened.’ 

Brendon just nods and walks away into the kitchen, heading straight for the refrigerator and pulling out a beer. 

‘Linda told me. Sarah told her.’ 

Brendon takes a large gulp of beer and doesn’t say anything. 

‘I’m really sorry, man.’

He places the beer on the counter and shrugs, ‘Probably should have seen it coming.’

‘Why? What happened?’ Spencer inquires, moving a few steps closer but not so close Brendon feels crowded. 

‘I, uh, well a lot of things really. We weren’t… well, we were holding on to a lot of old stuff and, I guess it was just that, old stuff. It wasn’t how we felt anymore.’

Spencer reaches out a hand and places it on Brendon’s shoulder. This action seems to snap something which apparently Spencer sees before Brendon even notices it happening, but then Brendon’s crying and Spencer has pulled him forward into a tight hug, his nose digging into Spencer’s shoulder. He wraps his arms around Spencer’s ribcage and sobs, huge, wet gasps that wrack his body and make his head hurt. 

Spencer doesn’t say anything while Brendon cries, just occasionally rubs his back soothingly and waits. After a few minutes Brendon has calmed sufficiently to move back and stand by himself, wiping his eyes furiously. Once he has taken several long, deep breaths he reaches again for his beer. 

‘You know it’s 11am don’t you?’ Spencer chides, raising a concerned eyebrow. Brendon ignores him and takes a large swig. Spencer shrugs. ‘Why didn’t you answer any of my messages?’

‘I put my phone on silent.’ Brendon keeps his eyes down and moves over to the couch and slumps into it. 

‘That’s not actually an answer, Brendon.’ Spencer says, tone edging into frustration. ‘I was really worried about you.’ 

‘I just didn’t want to deal with any of it. I needed some time to wallow, man.’ 

Spencer comes and sits down next to him, leaning forward so his elbows are resting on his knees. ‘She called Linda from Detroit. Linda thought she was just visiting for the holidays, but then she said it was over between you two, that irreparable damage had been done and she was filing for divorce.’ 

Brendon winces at the word, he can’t believe he’s getting a divorce. 

‘Well,’ he eventually says, putting down his beer, ‘yeah that pretty much sums it up: irreparable damage.’

Spencer waits a moment in silence before curiosity seemingly gets the better of him.

‘Brendon, seriously, what happened? I know you guys were going through a bit of a rough patch but I didn’t think it was anything that could lead to this?’ 

He stares at the coffee table and feels the numbness creep back into his stomach. He bites his tongue. 

‘I accused her of cheating on me with Anna,’

Spencer sighs, ‘Oh, Brendon.’

‘Yeah. Then I… I grabbed her so hard, Spence, and, and I shook her. I shook her until her hands went blue and she was crying. I was just screaming at her and she was crying so hard, and.’ He pauses and looks at his thumbs, which he has recently taken to picking the skin off of. ‘Then at Christmas, I fucking… I forgot her middle name. I think that was just the nail in the coffin, to be honest. We were just separate people.’

Spencer is staring at him with a look of sickened shock on his face. 

‘Did… Why did you do that, Brendon?’ He finally asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

Brendon hangs his head, ‘I don’t know! I was drunk and angry and upset and… and I fucking  _ hate  _ Anna, and since I’d been messaging Ryan I felt so much more-’

‘Ryan?’ Spencer interrupts, ‘Who Ryan? Our Ryan? Why the fuck were you messaging Ryan?’

Brendon’s mouth hangs agape as he realises what can of worms he has just opened. He picks his thumb nervously. 

‘No Ryan. Who said Ryan?’ 

He risks a glance at Spencer who looks like he’s about to throw hands. 

‘Ok! Fine! Our Ryan I’ve been messaging Ryan.’

Spencer tugs on his hair, ‘Why in all hell have you been doing that, Brendon?!’ he exclaims, then he takes a sharp inhale, ‘Wait, is that why Sarah left? Because of Ryan? Did he ruin your relationship again?’ 

Brendon quickly gets to his feet and Spencer looks up at him, ‘No! No! I ruined my relationship, that’s on me. But… Ryan’s just been talking to me a bit about… well about stuff.’

‘Stuff?’ He doesn’t look convinced.

Brendon starts wandering around the room as he talks, waving his arms a bit manically. 

‘Yeah, stuff! Touring and writing music and fucking up sleep schedules and not eating properly and getting used to shitty gas station coffee! Just… fuck, stuff! Things I can’t talk about with other people anymore because it’s just me, and it’s not how I wanted it, but it’s just me and it’s nice to talk to someone who understands what it’s like to be just them.’ He stops and looks around at Spencer, who looks wounded. 

They’re both silent for a moment, waiting for the other person to say something else. Spencer breaks first. 

‘Look. Brendon, I know this is hard, and I’m really sorry I can’t tour with you anymore-’

‘That’s not what I-’ Brendon tries to interrupt but Spencer carries on regardless. 

‘I know, but I am. But I’m here for you, I’m your friend. I thought you could talk to me about this…  _ stuff _ , and lately you’ve been shutting me out, been shutting everyone out by the sounds of things.’ He takes a breath, ‘I am sorry Sarah left you, I’m sorry that didn’t work out, and I’m horrified to find out you’re feeling so alone, but you’ve got to let us in.’ He pauses another second to rake his hand through his hair and stand up so he can look Brendon in the face. ‘Ok, I’m not going to be mad or whatever about you talking to Ryan again, that’s your call, and if it helps what the hell, but please don’t shut me out and then be mad when no one’s left inside. I love you, man, always have always will, and I’ll stand by your side whether or not we’re in a band together, but just don’t push me away.’

‘I’m sorry, Spence.’ 

‘It’s ok. I forgive you.’ 

‘You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.’ 

‘You too. So don’t go deserting me now, Urie.’ 

Brendon laughs and strides over to embrace his friend. They hug tightly before Spencer speaks up. 

‘Look, I know you’re going through it, but man you need to fucking shower. You stink.’ 

Brendon chuckles and pulls out of the hug. 

‘Yeah, fair enough.’ He smiles at his friend and clasps his shoulder. ‘Please don’t leave just yet, I don’t want to be alone.’ 

Spencer smiles compassionately and nods, ‘Of course, I’ll start on some food while you clean yourself up, ok?’ 

‘Ok. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

Brendon can hear Spencer pottering around downstairs as he undresses and gets into the shower. A wave of sadness passes through him as he acknowledges that Sarah isn’t coming back and that the house will now be deathly quiet without her. He had gotten used to the noise she made when she cooked or watched TV or cleaned up after him. 

He takes his time in the shower, methodically massaging his head and body and letting the hot water rush over his skin. It’s quite calming, but it can’t last forever. 

When he makes his way back downstairs, having changed into some clean sweats, the sweet smell of a tomato sauce greets him. Spencer casts a glance up when Brendon reenters the room. 

‘Hey, you look much better.’ He says as he stirs a large pot filled with a rich, red sauce. 

‘Thanks. I feel better,’ He heads to the island and perches on one of the stools - he hates them but Sarah picked them out and he was never bothered to argue with her about them. ‘What are you making?’

‘Just a classic marinara. Found some mince in your freezer so gonna make some meatballs to go with it.’ He grinds some pepper into the sauce and stirs gently. 

‘Why do you put up with my shit, Spence?’ Brendon asks, partly joking. 

Spencer chuckles but doesn’t turn around, ‘Because most of the time you’re worth it. And also because you do the same for me.’ 

‘Cheesy.’ says Brendon, and Spencer laughs again, louder. 

‘Whatever, fuckwad, just shut up and help me make these meatballs, would you?’

Brendon obliges. They work in silence for a while, with Spencer occasionally giving Brendon instructions on how to mix or form the meatballs while he handles everything else. 

‘So,’ Spencer finally manages, ‘when did you start talking to Ryan again?’ 

Brendon sighs, he knew this was coming, and had agreed with himself to remain calm about it. 

He shrugs, ‘A month ago, I think? About when he started touring.’

Spencer hums and nods, ‘How is he?’ 

‘Ok, I think. He seems fine to me, at least.’ 

‘Good... good.’ 

‘It was a spur of the moment decision to contact him, Spencer.’ Brendon admits. ‘He did me a favour a while ago and I was a dick about it, I wanted to make it up.’ 

Spencer simply nods again. 

‘I should have told you.’ 

‘No, no,’ Spencer assures, ‘it’s fine, really. He’s - it’s not my business.’

Brendon decides it is best to drop the subject and carries on rolling the meatballs and plopping them in the pan for Spencer to fry off. 

The food takes a little while longer after Brendon’s role is done, and Spencer shoos him out of the kitchen, saying he needs space to create art, and relegates Brendon to the living room. 

They eat the food together on the couch in the living room, making pleasant small talk between Brendon’s shovelling the food into his mouth. He realises he hasn’t eaten a proper meal in a while, and it tastes so good. 

‘Do you want me to make some meals and put them in your freezer for you?’ Spencer asks, eyeing his friend with concern as the food on his plate has vanished in a matter of seconds. 

Brendon shakes his head, ‘No, it’s fine, really. Thank you, though.’ 

Spencer doesn’t answer, but makes a soft noise and carries on eating his own portion. Brendon shakes his leg a little, making the cutlery bang against the plate in an annoying way. 

‘There’s more in the pot, Brendon.’ Spencer says, without looking up.

Brendon laughs and shrugs, ‘You know me too well. Thank you.’ Spencer laughs as Brendon hops up to go get himself more food. 

The rest of the day is spent watching Disney movies, with Spencer periodically traipsing around the house doing laundry and putting the dishes away. Brendon is so grateful to have such an amazing friend and feels like a terrible person for making Spencer feel so bad. He feels the shame and guilt twist a knot deeper in his stomach and he curls a little tighter in on himself on the couch. 

It hits 9pm and Brendon is exhausted. He can’t account for why he’s so damn tired, he just feels like another moment with his eyes open might kill him. 

‘I think I’m gonna call it, man.’ He tells Spencer, getting up off the couch and stretching. 

‘Really?’ Spencer says, surprised, and gets up as well, turning the TV off. 

‘Yeah, I’m done.’ 

Spencer smiles, ‘Ok. I have clothes in the wash so I’ll wait for them, if that’s ok? Then I can let myself out.’ 

Brendon chuckles and hugs his friend tightly, ‘That’s fine. I’ll see you soon. Thank you for coming over.’

Spencer waves him off, and Brendon struggles up to his bedroom, basically asleep before he reaches the bed. 

When he wakes up the next morning, it’s 10am and he sighs a little happier. He feels refreshed and gets up to get something to eat, his appetite returning. The house looks clean as he heads downstairs, and he smiles at Spencer’s handiwork. When he gets to the kitchen there’s a pink post-it on the counter with something scribbled on it. He picks it up. 

‘Hey, hope you slept well. I put all your laundry away and there are a couple meals in the fridge and freezer when you need ‘em. Love you, man - Spence’

He smiles again and heads to the fridge, pulling it open to see it packed with prepped meals. He gasps and pulls the freezer open to see a similar situation. 

‘Well damn.’

* * *

_ ‘Obviously it’s really sad for me to have my best friend leave the band, but it’s definitely the best decision for him right now, and, who knows, sometime in the future, maybe things will have changed.’ _

_ ‘So, first Ryan and Jon, and now Spencer, feels a bit like your band is cursed!’ _

_ [Laughing] _

_ ‘I mean that would be some pretty awesome marketing material, but, no. We’re not cursed, just a bunch of people figuring out where we fit in the world and stuff.’ _

_ ‘So what’s next for Panic! At the Disco?’  _

_ ‘Ah, who knows? Maybe I’ll quit next, huh?’ _

_ [Laughing] _

* * *

Midway through January, Brendon’s starting to feel better, feel more normal. He’s still coming to terms with his new setup, but it’s taking less time than he likes to become used to the silence, the sound of his own footsteps echoing around the house. He hasn’t talked to Sarah since she left, but he assumes she’ll have to come back sooner or later to get her things. He is not looking forward to that day. 

Their separation hasn’t yet hit the news, Sarah evidently hasn’t publicised the event, and Brendon’s team - the ones that are privy to the development - are working hard to keep a lid on it until it’s all over. 

The one twinkle of light in his divorce is that the label has stopped pressuring him for a new album. However, the dark cloud to this particular silver lining is that it means he is left feeling listless, purposeless and futile in his home, in his life. He has no motivation to write anything, but that no one is expecting him to write anything either takes off the pressure that he’s now convinced was the only thing keeping him sane. 

Every day he finds himself wandering through rooms aimlessly, picking at peeling paint on the wall or sporadically taking down the Christmas decorations which are still up. 

Spencer checks in on him every so often, but gets the feeling Brendon needs some time to process what the hell has just happened in his life, and comes by to watch TV and make more food when necessary. 

Ryan has also petered off communication-wise, and Brendon misses the texts dearly. The last message he received from Ryan was a week into January, and all it read was ‘ _ Super busy with tour stuff, i’ll message when I can’ _ . Clearly since then Brendon has been firmly in Ryan’s “can’t” pile. 

It is an unremarkable, dreary February morning when Brendon heads downstairs, beginning the routine he has settled into which is offering stability to his life. The mail has already been delivered and he runs outside in his pyjamas and no shoes to grab it from the box.

He flicks through the envelopes, some bills, advertisements, phishing scams, and catalogues, to the large, white one at the back marked “Important”. It’s addressed to him and has the California State emblem stamped on the front. His divorce papers. 

He slumps back into the house and heads straight for the kitchen, dumping the mail on the counter and bidding adieu to his routine in favour of pouring himself a large glass of single malt whiskey. He downs it rather quickly and resists the urge to bring it right back up again. He puts the glass down and heads back over to open the letter. 

He knew this was coming, Sarah had warned him she had filled in the proper paperwork and that he would be served with them in the following days. It’s just so different to see the papers right there in front of him, telling him that they are divorcing on the grounds of “irreconcilable differences”, that she doesn’t want financial support, and she’s letting him keep the house but she wants their studio in New York. She’s paying her own attorney bills, and she’s changing her name back to Orzechowski. 

He has 30 days to respond, saying he’s received them, and then the real process can commence. He’s sure it won’t take long. He doesn’t want to take anything away from her, and she clearly doesn’t want any more to do with him.

He looks over the papers in front of him one more time before he’s on the verge of tears. Then, he reaches for his phone and presses the green phone button, scrolling through his contacts to find the right one. 

He hits “call mobile” and waits, the phone pressed heavily against his ear. It rings several times, each chirrup speeding up his heartbeat uncomfortably. Then, finally:

_ ‘Hello? _ ’ 

He breathes out shakily and starts crying. 

_ ‘Brendon, what’s wrong? Are you okay?’ _

He keeps crying, taking horrible, choking inhales which rattle down the phone line in what he can only imagine is a horrible way. 

_ ‘Brendon, please, you’re scaring me, what’s happened?’  _

He calms himself enough to gasp: 

‘My whole life is falling apart, Ryan.’ 

He continues sobbing, pausing every so often to take a wet, raking breath. 

_ ‘Okay...how is it falling apart, Brendon?’ _

Brendon carries on crying, not sure how to express to Ryan the various ways his life is a steaming pile of shit. 

‘I just,’ he chokes, ‘I can’t do it anymore, it’s too hard, and I,’ another wave of tears hits him and his chest feels like it’s being crushed. 

_ ‘All right, shh, it’s okay. We’re going to sort this out. Have you… have you told Spencer this is how you feel? I’m sure he’d like to know.’  _

Brendon shakes his head, ‘No. He’s too busy with his work and Linda, I don’t want to add on shit.’ 

_ ‘Brendon,’ _ Ryan chides in a softly disappointed tone,  _ ‘Spencer is your friend, I don’t think he has it in him not to care about you.’  _

‘But I- I’m useless, and terrible, and I fuck up everything around me and I don’t know how to stop!’ He ends almost screaming, hot tears streaming down his face and burning his eyes. 

_ ‘Shh, you’re okay, please calm down. Okay, listen I am going to really quickly put you on hold can you just breathe for me in the meantime, please?’ _

Another knot tightens in Brendon’s chest as he realises Ryan, too, is sick of him and his meltdowns. 

_ ‘I’m going to be back on the line in one minute, and I’ll stay with you as long as you need, just please don’t hang up. Please, Brendon.’ _

And since when could he refuse that. 

He nods and says okay, then sits on the floor with his back against the cupboards, breathing shakily down the empty line. A soft jingle is playing, and he tries to get himself under control. 

True to his word, a minute later Ryan is back. 

_ ‘Hey, you still there?’ _

‘Yes.’ 

Ryan sighs in relief,  _ ‘Thank you. Are you breathing for me?’  _

‘Yes.’ 

_ ‘Good, that’s really good. Now, wanna tell me why you’re on the phone to me bawling your eyes out?’  _

Brendon huffs out a laugh laced with tears and bangs his head back against the cupboard door. 

‘Just… everything.’

_ ‘Well everything is quite a lot of stuff, there, B.’  _

‘I just… I can’t do anything. Being a singer, being a friend, being a husband, all of it is just… falling apart and… and I can’t hold onto it anymore, it’s all slipping away, and I don’t even know how much of it I want to catch anymore.’

Ryan hums on the other end of the line,  _ ‘When did this all start happening, Brendon? When did you start feeling like this?’  _

He pauses for a moment and makes a vague noise, ‘I don’t know, a while, I don’t really remember the last time I didn’t feel like this.’ 

_ ‘Have you seen anyone about it?’ _

‘No. I don’t want to burden anyone with this shit, I don’t even know what it is.’ 

_ ‘Why are you so certain you’re a burden?’  _

‘Come on,’ Brendon winges, ‘How could I possibly not see myself that way? I ruin everything! Brent, and you, and Jon, and Spencer, and Dallon, and Sarah, I’m the common denominator in all of those relationships. I ruin stuff.’

_ ‘Brendon, you’re putting a lot of other people’s problems on yourself right now which isn’t very fair.’ _

‘You can’t seriously tell me that I’m not making sense.’ 

_ ‘Yes, I can. And I can tell you seriously that this feeling, this isn’t you. This isn’t the way you should be feeling, and it won’t last forever.’  _

‘How can you tell me that?’ Brendon asks, a ribbon of anger undercutting his tone. 

Ryan sighs again,  _ ‘Because I know this feeling. I’ve  _ _ felt _ _ this feeling, B. And I won’t lie to you, it fucking sucks, but it is by no means endgame. You gotta believe me this is not how you’re going to feel for the rest of your life.’ _

‘Yeah? How are you gonna make sure of that?’ 

Ryan laughs,  _ ‘If I have anything to do with it, I’m going to make sure.’  _

Brendon’s about to open his mouth when someone starts slamming on the door. 

‘What the hell…’

_ ‘Go. Answer it.’  _ Ryan instructs, and Brendon gets up slowly and heads to the front door. 

‘What’s going on?’ He asks down the phone. 

_ ‘I… just answer the door.’  _ He replies. 

Brendon pulls the door open to see a red, bedraggled Spencer, hair sticking to his face with sweat. 

‘Spencer?’

‘Ryan called me.’ Spencer answers. 

_ ‘I’m going to go now, B. Call me later, okay?’  _

With that, Ryan hangs up and Brendon stares in disbelief at the phone in his hand. 

‘Brendon, are you okay? What’s happened, Ryan said you were in a bad state.’

Brendon has not yet managed to wrap his head around what the fuck has just occurred and continues to stare but shifts his gaze to Spencer instead. 

‘How did…’

‘Brendon, what’s going on? What’s wrong?’ 

Spencer's tone is so plaintive, and his face so concerned that Brendon feels so instantly guilty he nearly starts crying again. 

‘Why… why don’t you let me in, and we can talk about this, huh?’

Brendon just nods and Spencer walks into the house, stopping at the foot of the stairs to look back at Brendon who shuts the door slowly and doesn’t take his eyes off the floor. 

‘Come on, B, let’s go sit down, okay?’

Brendon just nods and follows Spencer into the kitchen, who promptly stops and looks at the papers on the counter. 

‘Oh, Brendon.’ He sighs, shuffling the papers around and looking at them all. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t know they were coming today.’ 

Brendon moves past him to sit on the back of the couch, he shrugs. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Spencer asks, collecting the papers back into a neat pile. 

‘I didn’t feel like it, to be honest. She messaged me a couple days ago saying she’d filled it all in and everything, and that I should look out for it in the post. I kind of… didn’t want to believe it was really happening.’

Spencer comes over to sit on the couch with him and puts his arm over Brendon’s shoulders. 

‘You don’t have to be alone in this, Brendon. We’re right here, ready to help you, ready to support you. I don’t like getting a phone call from a guy I haven’t spoken to in a decade telling me my best friend is having a breakdown.’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ Brendon apologises instinctively. 

‘Don’t apologise,’ Spencer replies, shaking his head, ‘Just let me in. Tell me what you need, how you feel.’

There’s a moment of silence between them, Spencer just waiting for Brendon to admit something he’s been holding in, something Spencer has seen for a while but didn’t want to admit. 

‘I… I don’t feel good.’ He winces and shakes his head. ‘No, that’s not right. I don’t… I feel like, like I’m swimming and for a while I was swimming just fine, floating along, and then, I don’t know… like I stopped being able to float and every stroke was that much harder, and the water felt deeper and like if I put my feet down there would be nothing there to support me.’ He takes a breath. ‘And it’s harder to bring my arms through the water and I can feel it in my ears, in my mouth, coming up my nose and in my eyes, and I’m so close to just… to just letting it.’

Another moment of silence passes and Spencer feels his body chill at his best friend’s words. 

‘Brendon are you… have you been…’

‘No. I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘Brendon, I need a better answer than maybe.’

‘I don’t know what to say, Spencer!’ He exclaims, suddenly turning to the man beside him with tears in his eyes. He’s surprised when he sees the tear tracks down Spencer’s face, and is momentarily stunned into silence.

‘Just tell me. Have you thought about killing yourself?’

He says it so quietly, so gently that Brendon wonders if he actually said it at all, if he really just sighed and Brendon heard the words in his own head. 

He shakes his head no. 

‘I’ve thought about not being here anymore, being gone or being somewhere else, but not, like, actively doing  _ that _ .’

Spencer nods slowly and moves his arm from around Brendon to wipe his eyes. 

‘Okay. Well, that’s something, I guess.’ 

‘Is it?’ 

‘Yeah.’ Spencer reassures, still crying. ‘I think we’d better… Um, I think we should find you someone who can… someone to talk to. Properly.’ 

Now it is Brendon’s turn to nod. ‘Yeah, I… I think that might be okay.’ 

‘Good. Good, okay. Do you want me to take care of it, or do you want to find someone yourself?’ 

‘I don’t know, that’s a bit…’ 

‘Don’t even worry about it.’ Spencer interrupts. ‘I still have the number from the guy I was seeing and though he specialised in addiction he worked at a, a place that did a load of stuff. And I think Ryan might still have the number from the woman he saw back in the day, I know he really liked her, maybe she’s available. Or Pete’s guy was pretty nice, Pete liked him a lot, said he was good at understanding the stresses of life on the road and stuff like that. I think he also was more about addiction but had a load of specialities. So, we have options.’

Brendon looks a little dumbfounded, feeling the horrible realisation that so many of his friends had shared his feelings and he didn’t even know. He feels worse now, thinking he was on his own and no one could relate… 

‘Stop overthinking,’ Spencer says suddenly, ‘Us having pain doesn’t diminish your pain. Just means we’re now way more prepared to deal with this. I’m going to make sure you’re okay.’ 

‘Thank you, Spence.’ Brendon mumbles, turning to hug his best friend tightly. 

‘You’re welcome, Brendon.’ Spencer says, smiling and squeezing extra tight. ‘Everything is going to be fine.’

* * *

_ ‘And how is touring solo? Must be pretty weird, right?’  _

_ ‘Ah, yeah, it’s a little weird, but the bright side is I get loads of room on the tour bus which never used to happen. [Laughs] No, it’s fine. I have loads of company from the roadies and the support acts are really good fun… Honestly, it’s great. I feel really good, like I was initially kind of, um, worried that I would be super lonely or bored or whatever, but, um, no I’ve settled into it really well and kind of found my groove now.’ _

* * *

True to his word, Spencer fixes everything up. He does some research, calls a load of their friends who have been to therapy and compares them all on a spreadsheet he makes. He sends the spreadsheet to Brendon just to keep him in the loop, but Brendon looks at it once and decides it’s better just to let Spencer deal with it. 

In the end, Spencer decides on a small clinic 15 minutes away from Brendon’s house, and organises an introductory meeting with one of the therapists, a Ms Joanne Linehan. 

When they meet for the first time, Brendon can’t help but to like her. She is bubbly and attentive, outlining her professional specialities as well as telling him a bit about her methods and her personal life. She says that she likes to share a bit with her clients as she finds this helps them to feel more at ease with her and in turn share more personal details and introspections. 

She’s also very cool. She has beautiful tattoos up both arms which he compliments, and several face piercings with studs in funky shapes and colours. Her office is equally enigmatic, packed full of painting and craft supplies, toys, books, a coffee machine and biscuit tin, as well as numerous pieces of comfortable looking furniture. 

She asks easy questions at first: where he was born, where he grew up, his profession, age, marital status, and encourages him to speak as freely or conservatively as he wishes. He finds himself coming clean about everything with her, carefully skirting around some too-revealing details, which he can see she picks up on. 

‘Okay, Brendon, I think I have a pretty good idea about why you’re here, and I’m so glad you’ve decided to embark on this journey. Now, I can’t say it is going to be easy, but hopefully we will be able to address some of the bigger issues in your life and some of the things you’ve been holding on to for a while which you haven’t yet dealt with.

‘I want you to think of your life like a house. Any house you like, that doesn’t matter. Now, there are places in your house, like the porch, for instance, that you let most people you meet into, that’s a totally open space, quite impersonal. Then, you might let a few more people in through the front door into the lobby. Some people might be allowed into the lounge or even the kitchen of your house. Partners or lovers will probably be let into your bedroom. But there are rooms in your house that are out of use, that, potentially, even you do not enter. Now you coming here, that’s you letting me into the lobby, but I’m here to help you open those doors that you’ve left shut for a long time. We’re going to open the door and we’re going to let some light in. Part the curtains, open the windows, maybe even pick up some of the stuff you’ve put in the room, and we’re going to show you that it’s not so scary after all. Does that sound okay?’ She looks at him quizzically. 

He nods, ‘Yes, that sounds very good.’

She smiles brightly, ‘Good! Then if you’re happy to continue with me I can schedule you in for next week? Is the same time all right?’

‘Yeah, same time next week is fine.’

‘Awesome, that’s all booked in. I’ll see you then! It was wonderful to meet you, Brendon.’

‘You too, thank you.’ 

He leaves her office feeling a little bit of the weight he’s been holding chip off and something suspiciously akin to hope rising in him. 

He heads home on foot, trying to do one of the concentration exercises Joanne had recommended. You just, like, pay attention to stuff, he thinks is the gist of it. You look around and notice things, the smells, the colours, the feeling of the air on your skin… shit like that. After a couple of blocks he feels a bit calmer and smiles to himself. 

He checks his phone when he has reached home, seeing a new message from Ryan has appeared. Another smile paints his face and he taps it eagerly. 

_ ‘How was therapy?’ _

He remembered. He gets an inexplicable chill at the realisation and smiles wider. 

‘ _ It was good thanks :) she’s super nice’  _ He replies, waiting for the response instead of getting on with his day. He knows Ryan will reply quickly. 

_ ‘Amazing news! :D i’m happy for you bro’ _

_ ‘Thank you that means a lot. How’s the tour going?’ _

He moves into the kitchen, noticing how hungry he is after the session. He makes himself a sandwich and waits for Ryan’s reply. 

_ ‘Ah fine, we’re nearly back in the US now which is giving me the strength to carry on lol’ _

_ ‘How many days till a homecoming show?’ _

_ ‘3 the first one’s in NY and then IL then TX then CA. Finally its nearly over.’ _

_ ‘Oh shit that’s soon! You must be exhausted’ _

_ ‘Fuck yeh i am, i’ve barely slept and when i have i’ve been in some pretzel shape which is literally wrecking my back’ _

_ ‘Oh, i’m sorry, i didn’t realise i was talking to Ryan’s grandfather. Sir, would you mind putting Ryan back on the phone?’ _

_ ‘Oh fuck offff, you try sleeping on a paper thin mattress with zero lumbar support for three months.’ _

Brendon laughs through a mouthful of his sandwich and gets little flecks of semi-masticated bread on the screen which he wipes away with his thumb, this in turn opens the GIF menu on his phone and he ends up accidentally sending Ryan a GIF of two squirrels from, he assumes, Bambi or Snow White, one pulling the other by the tail into a hug with their faces squished together. 

‘Shit,’ he exclaims, putting down the sandwich hastily, but not before Ryan has already replied.

_ ‘Cute but why?’  _

_ ‘Whoops, sorry accident’ _

_ ‘Sure Urie sure’ _

He laughs again, rolling his eyes fondly. 

Brendon doesn’t want to think about how one of the main things keeping him grounded at the moment are his conversations with Ryan. He used to be so angry at Ryan, so frustrated and pent up, and they would fight all the time over nothing just because they liked the rise they got out of each other. It used to drive Spencer up the fucking wall, but he tried not to intervene too much, didn’t like making unnecessary waves, so him and Jon would just sneak away and get smoothies or smoke outside. Brendon wonders sometimes that maybe if they hadn’t fought as much, Ryan and Jon wouldn’t have left or Spencer wouldn’t have imploded. 

They were so wrapped up in their personal dramas they hadn’t even realised Spencer drinking and pill-popping his way over the edge. Obviously, since then Spencer has tried countless times to relieve Brendon’s guilt, though to no avail. 

On the day Ryan is back in California Brendon can hardly contain himself. He wakes up naturally at 6am, feeling his skin thrumming and his head buzzing in anticipation. They haven’t yet agreed to meet, and Ryan is preoccupied with his post-tour rituals, which Brendon is surprised to learn have not changed since their very first tour. 

He’s quite nervous for the moment they do, though. Yes, they’ve been talking a lot recently, but he hasn’t actually seen Ryan in person since the awkward elevator scene at Pete’s offices months ago. And they haven’t had a real life conversation with each other in about a decade. He’s also not sure what their dynamic is now. Are they just friends, do they still resent each other for what happened? He’s not sure. He’s not sure what he is to Ryan if he’s not his enemy. Even when they were friends they were enemies. Well, before their fame they were just friends, but that wasn’t a whole lot of their relationship so Brendon’s not sure it counts. 

At 10am Spencer calls him, inviting him to a party at Pete’s house that he was invited to. Apparently the excuse this time is simply that Pete hasn’t had everyone over in a long time. Brendon rolls his eyes but says yes regardless. He hasn’t seen everyone properly since before Christmas thanks to everything that happened. Everything being Sarah and the divorce. 

He doesn’t message Ryan the whole day, knowing it will interrupt him and his routine which he’ll hate and then bitch at Brendon about. He just potters around the house, once or twice sitting at his desk in the music room and begging for some kind of inspiration. Nothing ever comes and he finds himself leafing through the box of old memorabilia again and again, looking at their smiling faces turn serious when they’re on stage. He can’t believe he ever looked that young, that any of them ever looked that young. 

He leaves the photos and merch and posters left splayed across the room when he gets up to get ready for the party. 

He was not told if there was a dress code so he decides that underdressing is better than overdressing, a motto Ryan used to absolutely despise. Jeans and a nice shirt it is. He changes his mind about his clothing choice several times before settling back on the first outfit he tried on, cursing at the mess the room has been left in as he never returned anything to the closet, just chucked it on the floor. 

He turns to the clock and sees it’s 8pm already, cursing again that he has spent over an hour looking for the perfect outfit to seem casual. He grabs his phone and wallet and heads downstairs to eat something before the party. Pete normally doesn’t go to the trouble of organising food, and if the kids are away, Meagan will be letting loose and will not have been convinced to make anything. 

Brendon pulls one of Spencer’s pre-prepped meals out of the fridge and pries the lid off halfway, then shoves it in the microwave and presses a random assortment of buttons until it starts. It’s one of those fancy microwaves that claims to be able to heat anything, and evenly, too. But Brendon never bothered reading the instruction manual and instead just presses buttons with amusing icons or names. Today he’s heating up his meal on a setting simply called ‘potato’. 

The setting sends the food in the tupperware spitting and popping with such ferocity Brendon has to prematurely end the timer and take it out. The edges are bubbling over, reaching their boiling point, but the centre is still ice cold. Typical, even his microwave can’t keep its promises. He elects to stir the contents around a little to spread the heat and shovels it in his mouth while standing over the sink. 

The less-than-elegant eating arrangement does not take away from how delectable the dish is, leaving Brendon wondering when and where Spencer learned to cook so well. Of course, Brendon is in his thirties and has spent his entire adult life travelling around or locked in a studio, clawing at the depths of his brain for inspiration. He hasn’t had the time or motivation to learn to cook well like this. 

Once finished with the meal, he dumps the empty container into the sink and runs some cold water, filling it to the brim so it’ll be easier to clean later when, or if, he remembers it. Brendon washes his hands and checks his face and clothes for signs of any splattered food stains. He’s clean, thank god; he doesn’t think he has the energy to go find another outfit. 

He checks the clock once more, wondering when would be an appropriate time to arrive at this party, he hasn’t been to a real party in a while and feels weirdly out of practice. 

Instead of guessing, he messages Spencer asking when he is going to get there. This immediately feels like a very adolescent move, but it’s too late and he can’t be bothered to feel ashamed. 

_ ‘probably like 8:30? I don’t wanna be too early but equally I don’t want to have to spend ages there, you know how Pete can be’ _

He does know how Pete can be, and doesn’t particularly want to be left without an ally at this party, especially so soon into his new, single situation. He texts back a quick thumbs up and heads to get his keys. He then second-guesses this decision, wondering whether he’ll drink at this party. He has never been good at resisting temptation, but Spencer will be sober so maybe he can hitch a ride with him when he leaves. 

_ ‘Hey can I get a ride back with you tonight? Might drink and saves on a cab?’  _

_ ‘Yeah sure’ _ Spencer replies speedily, and Brendon wonders if Spencer had been anticipating this message before he even sent it. The thought makes him smile and reply with his bitmoji character with heart eyes which Spencer thumbs-down reacts to. 

He replaces his keys in their bowl and brings up his Uber app, booking a car for 8:30 to Pete’s house. 

The car actually ends up dropping him round the corner from Pete’s house at Brendon’s instruction and he hops out, thanking the guy as he goes. 

The music is already spilling out of Pete’s house and the lights flash from inside onto the street. He walks up and knocks on the door, then rings the bell for good measure. Meagan answers the door and Brendon smiles brightly at her. 

‘Hi, Meagan.’

‘Hey, Brendon, come on in! How’ve you been?’ She asks, ushering him inside and closing the door behind him. 

‘I’m fine, thanks. How are Saint and Marvel?’ He shucks his coat off and she holds out her hand for him to give it to her. He obliges and she moves to hang it in their enormous coat closet. 

‘They’re good, thank you! Marvel can be a little bit troublesome, takes after her dad, but they’re good.’ She pauses a moment and looks at him almost sheepishly. ‘I heard that… I mean, Pete told me about-’

Brendon holds out a hand to stop her, ‘Please, I… thank you for whatever sentiment you were about to express, but honestly I’m okay and I just want to have fun today and not talk about the divorce, you know?’ 

She nods understandingly and looks guilty, ‘Yes, of course, I’m so sorry, that was insensitive of me.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he assures, ‘Thank you, though.’

She smiles through pursed lips and gestures to the back room and garden beyond. 

‘Pete and the others are out there, if you wanna go through. All the alcohol is on the patio and there are cups out there too.’ 

‘Thank you, Meagan. See you later.’ She smiles again and walks off in the direction of the kitchen, where he can see Linda and some other women grouped. He casts one last look at them, a sudden ache in his chest at not seeing Sarah and then turns and goes out into the garden. 

He spots Spencer immediately sipping on a fun-looking red drink with lots of bubbles. He’s talking to some guys Brendon recognises but can’t place. Pete is making a drink and chatting animatedly to another guy Brendon thinks he’s met several times but has since forgotten the name of. 

He walks over to Pete at the drinks table, smiling at the other guy and nodding his head in lieu of a hello. 

‘Hey, Pete,’ He says, and Pete looks at him quickly then back at where he’s pouring a whole lot of vodka into a cup. 

‘Hey, Brendon! How you doing?’ he asks cheerily ‘This is Jack, by the way, I don't know if you guys have met?’ 

The guy nods and Brendon says, ‘Yeah, I think we have, hey Jack.’ Jack smiles and waves a little then says something to Pete and walks off. 

Brendon picks up a cup and surveys the array of alcohol in front of him. He decides on the Grey Goose and picks it up gently. 

‘So,’ Pete says, having finished mixing his drink, ‘how are you?’ 

Brendon shrugs and adds mixer to his vodka, only a dash, he has a feeling this will be a trying evening. ‘I’m fine. How are you.’

If Pete senses the iciness in Brendon’s tone, he ignores it, ‘I’m good! But, like, are you sure you’re all right? Spence said you had, like, a bit of a tough time when the papers came through. I’m sorry about that, brother, divorce is never fun, believe me.’

Brendon figures he can’t be a little bitch about this with Pete, as one of the few people he knows who has been through much of the same shit as him and who is the sole person responsible for his career. 

He instead nods and takes a large swig of his drink. ‘Thanks, Pete, but I’m okay. I don’t really wanna talk about it right now, but I’m fine.’ 

Pete claps him on the shoulder and smiles a smile Brendon is now realising is one reserved specifically for people who are going through a divorce. 

‘If you need anything, let me know, man. I’m always here.’ 

‘Sure thing.’

Pete takes the cue and strolls off to talk to some other guests. 

Brendon quickly downs the rest of the contents of his cup and turns back to make another strong drink.

‘Hey, you okay? Looks like you’re getting on with those drinks a little fast.’ Spencer says as he comes up behind Brendon and refills his cup with some raspberry squash and lemonade. 

‘Jesus, I’m fine, why can’t anyone take a hint?’ He doesn’t shout, but there’s a deadly bite in his tone. Spencer takes a small step away and raises his eyebrows. 

‘Woah, calm down, Brendon. I didn’t say anything, don’t be a dick. You’re at a party, enjoy yourself.’ With that, Spencer turns off and walks back down the garden. Brendon, now more pissed off than before, follows him with some idiotic idea that maybe he can get back at Spencer somehow. He drops this though when Spencer joins Linda with some other woman and her boyfriend, Brendon assumes. 

Spencer doesn’t look him in the eye as they chat to the other couple, but Linda introduces him to Sasha and Alex with a smile but eyes that betray her irritation at him. 

He tries to make polite smalltalk, but these people are very boring and he figures there must be some interesting types at a Pete Wentz party; that’s, like, his speciality. 

He wanders aimlessly around the party, stopping to talk to various people he knows only a little, catching up with them mostly. By 9:30 he’s managed to find a guy called Benjamin and his friend Zoe who are pretty cool and don’t know about him or his life or his divorce, so their conversation is easy and casual. 

Brendon is listening to Benjamin animatedly talk about this new piece of sound editing equipment, and Zoe appears to have lost interest, leaning against Benjamin’s shoulder but looking off behind Brendon’s head. Then, her eyes focus and go wide and she slaps Benjamin in the chest with her hanging hand. 

‘Hey, isn’t that Ryan Ross?’ She exclaims excitedly. 

Brendon feels his spine turn to ice, his skin prickle, and a warmth spreading through his stomach. He takes two shaky breaths, he’s now being ignored by the couple in front of him, and turns slowly to look over his shoulder. 

There, indeed, is Ryan Ross. 

He’s shaking hands with a guy Brendon knows who works as a producer for DCD2, smiling wide and nodding his head sincerely to whatever the guy is saying. Brendon turns away quickly, dipping his head down and pulling his cup to his mouth without actually taking a drink. 

‘He’s kind of sexy, isn’t he?’ Zoe remarks, to which Benjamin just scoffs and mumbles that yes he is, if you’re into stick insects, which Brendon thinks is a little unfair, but he laughs nonetheless. 

He risks another glance over his shoulder to look at Ryan. His hair looks greasy but maybe that’s the look he’s going for, and it’s flipped over to one side which Brendon imagines makes his hair stylist go mad. He’s wearing a burgundy shirt with red stripes on the collar and sleeves, and a jacket that looks naval-inspired with golden buttons that aren’t done up. His trousers are cleanly pressed black slacks with red stripes up the sides. He looks like he’s gained a little weight, but, honestly, it’s a bit of relief; he was such a skinny kid, always looking like he could really use another meal. 

He looks good, though, healthy in the face and his mannerisms indicate happiness, or a very convincing reproduction of that. 

Ryan smiles once more at the guy he’s talking to, a close-mouthed one this time which stretches his face oddly, and his gaze skitters over the party-goers, landing, finally, on Brendon. 

Brendon’s eyes falter and he clenches his jaw, finally smiling weakly and whirling back to face Benjamin and Zoe, who are bickering quietly. 

‘- I just think it would be a good opportunity to network,’ Zoe whinges. 

‘God, leave it, just because you have an insane crush on-’ Benjamin groans back.

‘Oh my god,’ Zoe interrupts, gripping Benjamin’s shirt and bouncing on her toes, ‘he’s coming over! Benji come on, pretend we’re having a really interesting conversation.’ 

Brendon looks at them as Zoe poses herself in a very unnatural position and Benjamin rolls his eyes, tips his drink into his mouth, and scowls. Brendon can feel his heart beating horribly fast and just concentrates on not, like, falling over or something equally embarrassing. 

‘Hi there,’ Ryan says, coming up on Brendon’s right side. Brendon looks up at him, not turning his head fully. Ryan is looking at the other two in front of him. Zoe practically melts. 

‘Hi!’ 

Ryan turns to Brendon, who, this time, holds his gaze. ‘Hi, Brendon.’ 

He swallows and lowers his drink a little, ‘Hey, Ryan.’

Ryan turns to face him, seeming to have forgotten about the couple in front of him.

‘How are you?’ he says in a low voice, his tone somewhat cautious. 

Brendon nods and crosses one arm over his body to hold the other, which is getting a cramp from holding his cup to his mouth. ‘I’m good, thanks. How are you?’ 

A smile breaks across Ryan’s face and Brendon’s insides do a loop-de-loop. 

‘Awesome, that’s really good to hear. I’m fine, tired from the tour but good.’

A moment of silence settles between them and Brendon can feel the energy under his skin pulsing. He can also feel Zoe’s perplexed gaze flitting from him to Ryan and back. 

‘Um? Hi, sorry, I’m Zoe?’ She interrupts callously, and Benjamin laughs. 

‘Come on, Zo, I think this might be a conversation we should sit out.’ He starts pulling Zoe away, though she is reluctant, and Brendon catches his eye before he’s fully gone, and Benjamin smirks. Brendon smiles back and says it was nice to meet them before they’re lost in the throng of people. 

Brendon looks down into his drink before looking back up at Ryan, who is now fiddling with his jacket buttons in an anxious manner. 

‘I-’ he starts, and Ryan immediately looks up at him, causing him to completely lose his thought. ‘Um… I wasn’t expecting to see you here.’ 

Ryan shrugs slightly guiltily, ‘Yeah, I didn’t really know I was coming until about an hour ago, but I didn’t know if you were gonna be here and… I don’t know I was, um, kinda nervous to see you again, to be honest.’

Ryan casts him a timid look and Brendon sighs and smiles, ‘I was so nervous to see you, too,’ he admits, running a hand through his hair. ‘I was worried about, like, how to act or whatever, since it’s been so long.’ 

‘Right?’ Ryan nods in agreement, ‘Yeah, so that’s why I didn’t arrange anything with you in person because I thought, maybe, I don’t know. Maybe you wanted it to stay, like, online.’ 

Brendon laughs and Ryan joins him. 

‘How is that just so typical of us?’ Brendon asks. ‘We’re both thinking the exact same thing and we’re both too in our own heads about it to realise.’

‘I guess we haven’t changed so much over all these years, huh?’ 

Brendon scoffs, ‘Well, I don’t know, it appears you’re boycotting shampoo these days?’ 

He is met with a theatrically offended face from Ryan who shoves his shoulder and says a lot of melodramatic ‘how dare you’s until he’s laughing too hard to get it out any more. 

‘So how was-’ Brendon starts, but he is interrupted by Spencer coming over and shaking hands with Ryan. 

‘Hey, Ryan, how are you doing?’ 

Ryan shrugs, ‘I’m fine, just finished touring for the album.’

‘Yeah, I heard. Congratulations on the album, it’s very good.’ 

‘Thank you. What have you been doing recently?’ 

Brendon moves back to watch the interaction, wondering how they’re feeling, having been best friends for their whole childhood and then just nothing for ten years. He knows Spencer was hurt by the split and how it was handled, but he’s a forgiving person, that’s just in his nature. He knows less about Ryan. 

‘Um, I’m actually a talent agent at DCD2 now, I work with Pete and sign bands on, bands like we used to be. It feels kind of full circle.’ 

Ryan nods in appreciation and raises his glass to Spencer, ‘Wow, well that’s amazing! Glad you’re doing well.’ 

‘Thanks, man.’ There’s a pause while they look at each other when Linda comes up behind Spencer and he wraps his arm around her shoulder and turns back to Ryan, ‘Oh, hey, let me introduce you to my wife. Linda this is Ryan, Ryan this is Linda.’ 

Ryan reaches out his hand to shake Linda’s and says hello. 

‘We got married, what, two and a half years ago?’ Spencer asks, looking down at Linda who nods and smiles. 

‘Best day ever.’ She says, smiling wider. 

‘Well, congrats you two, you make a lovely couple.’ Ryan adds, sipping his drink. 

The four of them continue chatting amiably for a few minutes, Brendon mostly keeping his eyes down and his mouth shut, finding the whole thing a bit too weird. 

Honestly, he had not thought this far through in how his relationship with Ryan would translate into his real life. Since the beginning of their communication, Brendon has felt like Ryan wasn’t really real. This sounds silly, even to himself, but he felt like if Ryan was only ever through a phone screen, he couldn’t do as much damage, or have as much influence. This would also mean Brendon never had to worry about the convergence of his worlds, the same convergence which is happening in front of him and feels so strained he wants to be sick. 

Thankfully, Linda has been watching him and presses two fingers lightly into Spencer’s back and says, ‘Hey, hon, we need to go talk to Dave about those signings. He’s leaving soon and we should probably catch him before that.’ Spencer raises his eyebrows, but knows better than to disagree with his wife and nods. 

‘Yeah, of course. Well, it was nice to see you, Ryan. I hope to see you again soon, take care.’ 

Ryan mimics this sentiment and watches as Spencer and Linda walk off. 

‘That was super weird.’ He says to Brendon when the others are a safe distance away. 

‘You’re telling me.’ Brendon replies, finishing off his drink and licking at the last few drops.

‘Always feels like you’ve crossed into a parallel universe when you interact with someone from your past, doesn’t it? Especially someone who…’ Ryan trails off and shakes his head. ‘Anyway. Where were we?’ 

Brendon coughs to clear his throat and smooths his shirt down even though it hasn’t ridden up or creased. ‘We were, um, I was gonna ask you about your tour?’ 

‘Oh, yeah, okay,’ Ryan nods, shifting his weight on his legs and ending up a few inches closer to Brendon, ‘it was fine, long and boring, I’m really glad to be back.’ 

‘It’s weird, isn’t it?’ Brendon asks.

‘What is?’ Ryan replies, brow furrowing.

‘Um, touring, like, without other people. I found it weird the first time.’ 

Ryan nods, ‘Yeah. It was weird.’ 

They stand in silence and Brendon wishes he had prepared something to say to Ryan, but then, he didn’t know Ryan was coming tonight, so it’s not really his fault. 

‘This is also weird.’ Ryan eventually continues, and smiles at his shoes, and Brendon can’t help but laugh, which makes Ryan look up at him and break into a laugh, too.

‘God,’ Brendon sighs, ‘I didn't think this would be so… so fucking…’ 

‘Awkward?’ Ryan supplies and they both laugh again.

‘Can we just like, take the pressure off or something?’ 

Ryan raises his eyebrows, ‘Um, yeah, but, like, how?’ 

Brendon looks down at his empty cup, ‘How about a drink?’ 

Ryan smiles, ‘A drink would be awesome.’ 

They walk together to the drinks table, Brendon insisting that he make the drinks because it’ll be quicker and more exciting. Ryan just rolls his eyes at him, and it’s such a fond and familiar response Brendon smiles secretly to himself as he pours the drinks, biting the inside of his lower lip to stop it getting too wide. 

‘Here,’ he hands the cup to Ryan, making sure his fingers are wrapped around it sufficiently to ensure Ryan has to touch him a little to hold it properly, ‘Sazerac, right?’

Ryan looks impressed and takes a small sip of his drink, ‘Yeah, wow that’s good. Thank you.’ 

Brendon finishes making his drink, just a G&T, and does a small curtsy, ‘You’re welcome. It is my new talent. Singing just wasn’t challenging enough.’ He looks up in time to catch Ryan look at his feet and laugh softly, and it makes him take a deep, sighing breath. 

‘You’re such a dork, Brendon.’ 

‘Yeah, but I’m a rich dork, so.’ 

‘Money ain’t everything, you know.’ 

‘Helps though, doesn’t it.’ 

Ryan rolls his eyes again, sips his drink, and then looks out at the party-goers. ‘Hey, at some point tonight I might have to go do some networking, my agent said it would be a good idea.’ 

Brendon sips his drink too and flicks his eyes from Ryan to the other guests.

‘That’s fine, I should probably do the same.’ 

They stand a moment not saying a word, then Ryan turns back to Brendon. 

‘Until that point, though,’ he trails off and catches Brendon’s eye, then gestures his head to the back of the garden.

Brendon grins, ‘It’s like you read my mind.’

They wend their way through the crowd to the back of Pete’s garden, some people reach out and grab at Ryan, attempting to coax him into their conversations, but he brushes them off politely and continues following Brendon. 

‘I hadn’t realised how big of a deal you were now.’ He comments, smiling to try not to seem too serious, but Ryan rubs his neck and sucks at his teeth. 

‘Yeah, honestly, it’s kind of overwhelming. Like, I’d very much gotten over being that kind of famous and now it’s, like, all right back in my face.’ 

‘Isn’t it a good thing? Isn’t it what you were going for?’ 

Ryan combs his hair with his fingers repetitively and Brendon can’t stop looking at him doing it. 

‘Yeah, I mean I suppose it was, I shouldn’t really complain.’ He shakes his cup and the ice jingles against the plastic sides, then he brings the lip of the cup to his lips and pours the whole lot into his mouth, swallowing and wincing. 

‘Isn’t that a sipping drink?’ Brendon notes and Ryan just coughs in response. ‘Maybe we should have brought a bottle over or something.’ He continues, promptly finishing off his drink. 

‘Shit, yeah.’ Ryan concurs, so Brendon hands him his cup and tells him to wait there. He darts back through the crowd and sneaks a bottle of whiskey off the table, nodding hellos at people he sees whom he knows or recognises. Then, he speed-walks back to the end of the garden and brandishes the bottle at Ryan who laughs and rolls his eyes again. 

They drink most of the rest of the bottle, gravitating to the edges of the garden where there are more places to perch rather than stand. They don’t end up talking about tour or work anymore, finding once they’re liquored up it’s much easier to talk about other, random stuff. It feels more like an extension of their virtual relationship than earlier in the night. Brendon feels warm and careless and so free. 

They’re too many drinks deep when Ryan finally mentions the divorce, and Brendon feels the weight of it crushing back down on him. 

‘I don’t really wanna talk about it please.’ He protests, shifting his head onto Ryan’s shoulder so he doesn’t have to look at him. 

‘M’kay, sorry.’ Ryan says reaching up to stroke Brendon’s hair though mostly missing and ending up petting his face. Brendon closes his eyes and doesn’t mind. 

‘You smell nice.’ Brendon mumbles, inhaling deeply as if to corroborate this sentiment. Ryan chuckles and Brendon can feel the deep vibrations in Ryan’s chest and it's very comforting. 

‘You’re very warm.’ Ryan comments, and it is unclear whether this is directly in response to Brendon’s compliment or just off his own back. 

‘It’s all my blood,’ Brendon slurs in response, then sits up and looks Ryan right in the face, squinting a bit, ‘I have to pee now.’ Ryan nods and gives Brendon’s back a push to get him up and going in the right direction. 

He manages to stumble into the house, but sees a line of women outside the downstairs bathroom and cannot be bothered to deal with that, so instead steps carefully - or as carefully as he can manage, which isn’t very - over the tape that Pete has used to cordon off the upstairs of his house. Brendon thinks in theory this is a very good idea, but that it was definitely not intended for good friends of Pete’s like him. 

The bathroom is just two doors down on the left as he reaches the top of the stairs, and Brendon doesn’t even have to know that from being there before because the door is adorned with colourful letters that spell ‘restroom’. He remarks at this for a moment before pushing into the room and locking the door behind him. 

He glances at himself in the mirror and giggles at the reflection, the half-closed eyes and mussed hair. Then, he does finger-guns at himself and laughs again. He drags himself over to the toilet, having to close one eye in order to aim without getting all of it on the floor. He mostly manages this. 

He washes his hands and looks at himself again. 

‘You’re drunk,’ he says to his reflection, before adding, ‘and stupid, and i-’

He is interrupted by a knock on the door and scrunches his whole face in confusion. 

‘Who is it?’ he calls, before drunkenly realising he’s not meant to be upstairs and adding, ‘I’m Saint, go away.’ 

‘Brendon, it’s me. Let me in.’ 

‘Ryan?’ His confusion deepens but he goes and unlocks the door and opens it to Ryan standing a little too close. He pushes Brendon inside the bathroom and locks the door once more. 

‘What are you doing?’ 

‘I wanted to talk in private.’ 

‘We were in private outside.’ Brendon points out, but Ryan looks shifty, wringing his hands and biting at his lip. 

‘I know,’ Ryan admits, ‘but I meant somewhere a bit  _ more _ private. I just… I wanted to…’ 

‘Wanted to what?’ he asks as Ryan trails off. 

In lieu of an actual answer, Ryan stares him straight in the eyes and takes a step forward. He brings his hands up to hold Brendon’s face and leans in, pressing their lips together. He kisses him once, pulling back only slightly before Brendon moves his face forward and places his hands on Ryan’s waist, tugging their bodies closer as they kiss more deeply. 

Ryan runs one hand up from Brendon’s face and into his hair, curling his fingers and pulling lightly. Brendon can feel each strand of hair being tugged at his scalp and the pain is delicious. He moans quietly and grips Ryan’s shirt tight. 

Ryan pulls away after a minute and presses his nose into Brendon’s cheek, breathing deeply. 

‘Fuck,’ he whispers, eyes closed and his mouth painted in a smile. 

Brendon smirks, ‘I didn’t know,’ he pauses and Ryan opens his eyes to look at him, ‘I didn’t know that was something you wanted.’ 

‘Yeah, well, to be honest I didn’t either,’ he admits, moving backwards to look at Brendon properly, ‘not until I saw you tonight. Then, I just couldn’t not.’ He moves his hand to take Brendon’s and interlaces their fingers slowly. Brendon watches almost fascinated. ‘Did you know?’ 

Brendon doesn’t look up, though he can feel Ryan’s eyes on him, he just looks at where Ryan’s thumb is slowly stroking his own. 

‘Yes. For a little while, I think…’ he pauses and he can suddenly feel the alcohol sloshing in his stomach, feel the acidic burn in his throat and on his tongue, feel the phantom pressure of Ryan’s hands in his hair and mouth on his. 

‘Brendon?’ Ryan prompts, concern seeping into his tone. 

He looks up but only so he’s looking at Ryan’s collar bones. ‘I think Sarah knew long before that.’ The words feel tar-like in his mouth, and an icy shiver runs through him. He can see Sarah’s face, her beautiful face, her smile and her bright eyes, and how happy she used to look. Then, she morphs into how she looked that night he grabbed her, her wet cheeks, her quivering lips, her terrified expression, the bruises on her wrists that didn’t disappear. How she looked when she opened that stupid, fucking Christmas present, and how she didn’t look at him when she told him she was leaving.

Ryan’s shirt blurs in front of him, and he’s only faintly aware that his name is being repeated with increasing distress. All he can do is stumble forwards to bury his face in the comfort of Ryan’s chest and cry. 

He feels the tears and snot running onto Ryan’s shirt, his lungs ache from the sobs and his head is throbbing. 

‘Why?’ He cries, ‘Why did I do this? Why did I hurt her so much?’ 

Ryan just strokes his hair and shushes him softly. This has little to no effect on Brendon’s crying, however. 

He continues, ‘Why did she leave me? Why does everyone leave me?’

‘Everyone doesn’t leave you, Brendon.’ Ryan interjects consolingly. 

‘Yes they do!’ Brendon wails, ‘Everyone leaves me, people always leave me. I’m too much and then they leave.’ 

‘That’s not-’ Ryan begins, but Brendon pulls away, eyes red and face wet. 

‘Spencer and Dallon and… and Sarah, and  _ you _ ,’ his voice cracks and he wipes his nose with the back of his hand, sniffling, ‘you left. Yours really hurt.’ 

Ryan takes a deep breath and looks away, ‘Brendon… you know why I left. Hell, the whole world knows why I left, don’t pretend that was something different.’

‘Well wasn’t it?’ His tone is accusatory and his face is contorted in grief and anguish. 

‘No.’ Ryan replies coolly, ‘You know why I left, and you know I tried to come back. I tried to come back after you finished Vices and Virtues and  _ you _ said no. Don’t pretend me and Sarah are the same, Brendon.  _ You _ kept  _ me  _ out of your life, even when I didn’t want that, when I told you how I felt.  _ Sarah _ left  _ you  _ because she didn’t love you anymore. We are not the same.’ 

Ryan’s eyes burn straight into Brendon’s with fearsome contempt, and he watches, his heart sinking, as Ryan turns to unlock the bathroom door and stalks out back to the party. 

* * *

_ ‘I’ve always been a pretty happy guy… But look around you, how could I not be happy here?’ _

* * *

So, this is what rock bottom feels like. 

He has only left the house twice in the last two weeks and both of those times were to go to therapy. Both times he didn’t say much, just shrank into the chair and stared at the floor. Joanne didn’t push him, but at the end of the last session she had slipped a prescription for Zoloft into his hand and firmly reminded him he can call her whenever. 

He has the prescription pinned to his fridge and he stares at it angrily whenever he pulls another beer out. 

His house is littered with takeaway boxes and empty alcohol bottles. Spencer has tried to call several times, even ventured into the house once, but Brendon is completely unresponsive and eventually he had to go to work. 

Pete also dropped by, sitting down on the arm of the couch while Brendon stared blankly at the TV. 

‘We’re worried about you man,’ he said, watching Brendon take another swig of beer, ‘you haven’t been out, you’re drinking all the time… I don't understand where this is coming from?’ 

Brendon didn’t answer, just shrugged. 

Pete shifted and looked at his hands, ‘Brendon, there’s pressure coming at me for your album. We need something from you, you… you have to fulfil your contract, man.’ 

Brendon had closed his eyes and Pete had left. 

Most days he wakes up with aching muscles and pain running down his neck and back from just passing out wherever he was sitting the day before. 

There was one day, quite early in this spiral, when he marveled at how quickly his life had taken this turn, how fast he deteriorated into nothing. How easy it was to lose connection with those he loved, those who grounded him. 

Of course, Ryan hasn’t been in contact with him since the party, since they kissed and Brendon ruined everything. He’s been flicking back through their old messages daily, reading all the jokes and jibes and genuine feelings they expressed to one another. How close they had become and how their relationship had developed into something comforting, something familiar and safe and loving. A lot of times he finds himself crying, rereading the messages, feeling their absence keenly.

Though, through this absence, Brendon has had time to properly dissect the kiss, the way Ryan had held him so close and gently, the way he had smiled, pressed his nose into Brendon’s face and inhaled. How Brendon had admitted he had wanted it; and so badly he wanted it. 

It’s what his friends can’t really comprehend when they try to coax him out of his self-destruction, how it’s not just about his marriage ending - though that is a large factor - it’s about recognising something very deep and vulnerable in himself, the recognition that he stayed in a marriage where there was no love left and he wantonly gave himself to someone else under her nose. It’s about all the conversations he had with Sarah, all the times he accused her of cheating, and she was right about him: he was having a virtual affair with someone else. 

He loved Sarah, with everything he had had, but he had loved Ryan first. He was 17 and loved how his mind was, how he was funny, and shy, and so clever, and got him into clubs on the strip. It hadn’t lasted very long, Ryan had made it clear early on it wasn’t going to happen, but Brendon hadn’t minded at the time, used it to fuel how he sang the words Ryan gave him. He loved Sarah, and she was better for him in a million amazing ways, but he wanted Ryan. Except, now he has neither person and, according to Pete, is about 10 seconds away from not having a job either. 

Spencer comes back, after work one day, bearing food and rubber gloves. He doesn’t say anything to Brendon as he comes in, just gets to work clearing out the fridge and putting his groceries in, then making his way around the house cleaning up. It doesn’t take long, Brendon hasn’t really occupied many rooms other than the kitchen and the bathroom since the last clean Spencer did. 

When he’s done he joins Brendon on the floor in front of the couch. 

‘You look like shit.’ He starts, looking at Brendon, who is wearing grey sweatpants that are at least a size too big, and a  _ slightly _ darker grey hoodie with the hood pulled up. 

‘Thanks.’

Spencer sighs, ‘What’s happening here, man? One minute you’re getting better and then,’ he gestures vaguely at both Brendon and the surroundings, ‘this.’ 

Brendon shrugs and waits before responding, ‘I might get dropped from the label.’

The noise Spencer emits is somewhat akin to a squawk and Brendon nods through it. 

‘What the fuck? No way, Pete would have said something!’

‘He did, to me.’ Brendon offers, picking at the skin around his thumbnail. 

‘He told you you’re getting dropped?’ Spencer cries, disbelieving. 

‘Yup. Said if I couldn’t finish the album then my contract was done. I was done.’ 

Spencer appears to relax at this news and sits back, running a hand through his hair. ‘Oh, shit, I thought you meant really dropped.’ 

Brendon sits up, ‘What do you mean? He said if I don’t fulfil the contract..?’

‘Nah, Brendon,’ he interrupts, ‘your contract may say you need to fulfil certain criteria, but it’s not fucking death penalty shit. Your contract was heavily negotiated by me and Pete and your lawyer, it’s to your benefit. You’re on a long-ass contract and there are minimum terms, but we handle everything in-house and as long as you give us something by the end of the year, you’re fine.’ 

There’s a moment’s pause and Brendon says very sheepishly, ‘What if I have nothing left?’ 

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘I mean, what if I have nothing. What if my musical bank has officially run dry. What if I don’t have the fucking energy anymore?’

Spencer waits, looking at his hands. 

‘Then we find something new. We, we find your new passion and we support you. This isn’t the be all and end all, Brendon.’

Before Spencer leaves, he asks if there’s anything else he can do for his friend, darting his eyes over Brendon’s dishevelled appearance. 

‘No,’ Brendon assures him, shaking his head vehemently, ‘I just need some time.’ 

To this, Spencer nods and says ok, then walks out the house, calling out that Brendon should call him if he needs anything, anything at all. 

That night, Brendon walks upstairs to his studio and sits down at the desk, which is noticeably dusty from lack of use. He boots up the computer and watches the loading screen with blurry eyes. 

He spends a couple of hours looking through his old folders, containing pages and pages of ideas and demos for his other albums. Some of the files aren’t compatible with this new computer, having been written circa 2011 with very very old programs, but most of them he managed to convert. 

He clicks on one of the documents from when they were writing Vices and waits while it loads, it is approximately 30 pages of random thoughts and ideas. Scrolling through it, he skims some of the words and lines he had written, and a sharp pain stabs through him. There’s one line, in a cluster of many similar sentiments, that just gets him: 

‘ _ so much of myself left with you and now i must learn to live in pieces’ _

There’s something in how unrefined and clunky that line is that makes him ache, but he doesn’t remember writing it. He remembers how he felt, though. He remembers the rawness of the betrayal and despair he had felt at that time. That exact feeling of being profoundly incomplete and broken, and it had felt like the end of the world. 

He clicks off the document and leans back in his chair, clasping his hands together on top of his head. He breathes deeply, then leans back forward and clicks on Spotify, going straight to Ryan’s album and pressing play. He puts it on a loop and listens to the whole thing sitting in the chair, staring at the picture off to the side of him, Ryan, Spencer, and Jon and their selfie together. He falls asleep halfway through the second rendition of the album. 

He wakes up to the doorbell ringing. His computer has long since turned off and he wiggles the mouse to check the time: 11:13am. 

His eyes feel crusty and dry and he rubs them with the knuckle of his forefinger. His whole back feels like it’s made of pins, but he labours up regardless, heading downstairs to where the visitor has resorted to knocking continuously. 

‘I’m coming!’ he yells as he gets to the bottom of the staircase and swears under his breath about how people are so impatient. He’s prepared his irritated face to glare at whoever’s at the door, but he pulls it open and his face drops into surprise instead.

‘Hey,’ Ryan says softly, tugging at his left sleeve nervously. 

‘Hi.’ Brendon replies, not quite having decided what emotion he’s feeling. 

‘Can I come in?’ Ryan asks, his face timid and gentle, and it’s weird because those aren’t things he would have naturally associated with Ryan past the age of 18. 

Brendon snaps back to himself and pulls the door further open, moving sideways to let Ryan in. 

‘Yeah, of course, we can go into the lounge if you like?’

Ryan nods and walks inside. He looks around himself at the decor and rubs his hands together slowly. He shuffles to get his shoes off and lines them up against the wall by the door, then takes his coat off and hangs it on the newel post. Brendon watches him slightly disbelievingly, wondering why the hell this man has turned up at his house but also delighted that this is the case. 

‘So, where’s…?’ Ryan begins, gesturing around.

Brendon blinks and then says, ‘Oh! Sorry, the lounge is right here, come in.’ He turns right into the lounge and stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, watching Ryan walk in and assess the room before taking a seat on one of the couches. 

He looks at Brendon oddly, ‘Are you… gonna sit down?’

‘Oh! Right, yeah.’ He thinks for a second, weighing up the choice of sitting across from Ryan on the adjacent couch or sitting on the same couch at the opposite end of it… 

‘Brendon, just come sit here, would you?’ Ryan chides, patting the seat next to him and looking at him with something midway between amusement and concern. Brendon obliges and sits down next to Ryan, gripping his knees tightly to ground himself in the midst of this unexpected situation. 

Brendon is just waiting for Ryan to say something else, staring straight ahead. 

It’s a minute longer before Ryan speaks up. ‘I came because…’ he pauses again and Brendon can hear him roughly rubbing his stubble, ‘damn, you know, all I did on the way over here was practice what I was going to say when I got the chance and, god, I don’t know what it is about you, it’s just so much harder to say to you in person.’ He can feel Ryan’s eyes on him, and cautiously glances up, catching the gaze. 

‘I really miss you.’ Ryan says, his vulnerability and honesty expressed unabashedly in his words. 

Brendon lets out a sigh, ‘I really miss you, too.’ 

Ryan hangs his head and smiles wide. ‘Thank god. I felt like I was going crazy,’ he looks back up at Brendon and bites his lip, ‘I hadn’t realised I needed you so badly.’ 

His heart beats faster at this admission, and chills run down his legs. 

‘Seems like you haven’t been particularly in touch with your feelings, Mr Ross,’ Brendon jokes, ‘what an irregularity?’ 

Ryan laughs and rolls his eyes. ‘Shut up, this is weird for me.’

Brendon frowns slightly, still holding his smile. 

‘Why? Why is it weird?’ 

To this, Ryan rearranges himself on the couch, moving to turn more towards Brendon. 

‘Um, well,’ he pauses and runs a hand through his hair, ‘well, because before, like before when we knew each other, you were just Brendon. Like, dependable, funny, talented Brendon. And… and now? Now you’re  _ Brendon _ , who I can’t stop thinking about, who’s the best part of my day, who is really fucking hot _ Brendon _ , and it’s… well it’s a change of pace at the very least.’ 

This declaration is unexpected and Brendon’s having a hard time constructing a response. Turns out, he doesn’t need one, as Ryan gently places his hand on Brendon’s face and leans in once again to kiss him. Brendon reaches up and grips Ryan’s wrist, and with his other hand he curls his hand in Ryan’s shirt and squeezes tightly, pulling them closer. 

‘C’mere,’ Ryan murmurs, moving his hands to Brendon’s hips and tugging him over so that he has him in his lap, then pulling him forward so they’re chest-to-chest. The kiss is slow and intense, and Ryan moves his hands down to Brendon’s ass and squeezes, causing Brendon to rock forward and moan. He can feel Ryan’s breathing speed up, his evident excitement at the situation unfolding in his lap; he’s also excited for where this is leading. 

Brendon’s heard Ryan have sex with people before, heard the whole shebang, but it is so much more exhilarating up close and personal, when the arousal is for him instead. 

Just as he’s reaching for Ryan's pants, however, the kiss ends and his hands are caught and held up. 

‘Hey,’ Ryan says, a little breathless, catching Brendon’s eye, ‘I, um, am really, um, really,’ he pauses and Brendon takes the opportunity to lean forward and kiss his neck, relishing the soft, low noises Ryan makes at the action. When he’s cleared his head enough to continue his original thought, Ryan squeezes Brendon’s wrists tightly and tries once more to push him back. 

‘I’m really,  _ really _ , looking forward to, er, doing that,’ Ryan manages, and Brendon grins, ‘but I think that it is probably best for us to, um, wait. This is only the second time we’ve had a conversation in person in a decade and I really think it would be better for us to take our time?’ 

Of course, this is the incredibly sensible and grown-up thing to suggest, and Brendon understands that on an intellectual level. Unfortunately, his dick doesn’t have much capacity for intellect and was rather looking forward to something on a physical level. 

He elects not to vocalise this thought, instead ducking down to kiss Ryan once more, simply because he can, then sitting back and fiddling with Ryan’s collar. 

‘So,’ he starts, ‘what do you wanna do instead?’ 

They end up watching a movie and eating some of the food out of Brendon’s freezer. Ryan is momentarily impressed with Brendon’s meal-prepping, but then recognises the writing on the containers as Spencer’s and rolls his eyes, saying ‘So he’s still mother, huh?’. 

At 2am, Brendon has passed out on the couch in the front lounge, and Ryan shakes him softly. 

‘Hey, I’ll take you up to your room, I can sleep here,’ he strokes Brendon’s hair then adds, ‘if that’s okay?’ 

Propping himself up on his elbows so he can rub his eyes, Brendon responds quietly, ‘I haven’t actually been into my bedroom since Sarah moved out… I’ve been on the couch mostly. Or in the guest room.’

‘Okay, where’s the guest room?’ 

With a little struggling, they get to the guest room and Ryan helps Brendon lay out on the mattress. As he turns to leave, Brendon calls out: ‘Please stay. I hate it here alone.’ Of course, Ryan can’t refuse.

* * *

_ ‘I absolutely love LA, there’s so much to do here and so much inspiration I don’t think I could ever move from here.’ _

_ ‘You’re kind of living the dream, aren’t you?’  _

_ ‘Oh yeah, it’s a total dream, I don’t think anything could change my mind about that!’ _

* * *

Ryan wakes up with his nose pressed into Brendon’s hair, his arm wrapped tightly around his waist. He smiles to himself and inhales deeply. After about an hour, his need to pee outweighs his desire to stay curled up with Brendon, and he carefully extricates himself from the cuddle, grabs his phone, and ducks out the room. 

After he’s peed, he sends a quick message to Spencer telling him that he’s going to be at Brendon’s house looking out for him, making sure he’s okay, though he seems fine to Ryan. 

Ryan tries to go back to sleep in the guest room but soon realises he has lost all his tiredness and is now wide awake and ready for the day. He continues on with his normal morning routine waiting for Brendon to wake up. This eventually happens around midday when Ryan is watching old reruns of Seinfeld from the kitchen counter. 

‘Morning,’ Brendon greets as he wanders into the kitchen rubbing his eyes and stretching. 

‘Afternoon.’ Ryan replies, smiling. 

‘Oh shit, really?’ 

‘Yeah, I didn’t want to wake you, I didn’t know how much sleep you’ve been getting recently.’ Ryan turns around and grabs his mug from earlier. ‘Do you want coffee? I made it a while ago but it should be fine.’ 

‘Please.’ Brendon responds, coming round the kitchen island and waiting while Ryan reheats the beverage in the microwave. 

‘Did you sleep okay?’ Ryan asks, waiting for the ping.

Brendon nods and yawns, ‘Yeah, really well actually… haven’t had a sleep like that in a while.’ 

Ryan hands over the mug and Brendon thanks him, holding it up to his face despite how hot it is. 

‘I had a dream about you,’ he admits, looking down into the dark liquid instead of Ryan. 

‘Oh?’ Ryan inquires, raising an eyebrow. 

‘Yeah, it was… well let’s just say it was definitely not PG-13.’ He smirks over the coffee cup and Ryan laughs. 

‘You’re such a loser.’ 

‘Eh, you love it really.’ 

They decide to take it easy for the rest of the day, Ryan cooking up some pancakes for lunch, though it’s breakfast for Brendon, because he knows how much Brendon likes them. They sit on the couch eating them, Brendon shovelling them down like he hasn’t eaten in days. 

‘God, these are so good,’ he enthuses, mouth stuffed and another pancake-laden forkful on its way to his mouth. 

Ryan huffs a laugh, ‘Really? I hadn’t guessed that from the way you’re shoving them into your face.’ He raises an eyebrow and smirks but Brendon does not look deterred. In fact, he smiles broadly, his cheeks packed with chewed pancakes, some pieces spilling between his teeth. Ryan grimaces but a smile breaks through. 

When Brendon has swallowed he admits: ‘I’m actually a really bad cook, like I could not make these, despite the fact I watched you make them I just, literally can’t do it.’ He looks down at his lap and Ryan leans forward, sensing this was not as lighthearted or jokey an admission as it may have appeared. 

‘Hey, I only learned how to cook during the first Young Veins album. Suddenly we were tight on money and had to like, actually make our own food out of cheap shit we bought at dollar stores and stuff. I was terrible at the beginning, kept burning absolutely everything and putting too much salt in. But, you know, it’s one of those things you only get better at with time.’ 

Brendon doesn’t respond, killing the thread of conversation, and continuing to pack pancakes into his empty mouth. 

After Brendon has finished demolishing the baked goods, Ryan cleans up, and Brendon reads a book at the counter. Well, he holds a book while he watches Ryan clean, though he doesn’t admit this. 

When he goes to put the milk back in the fridge, having used it for another round of coffees, Ryan notices the yellow slip pinned under a Union Jack magnet. He frowns at it and plucks it off the refrigerator. 

‘Damn, you’re so much cheaper than my housekeeper,’ Brendon comments from behind him, having gotten up to examine the kitchen, ‘any chance you’re free?’ 

Ryan turns around, frowning, and looks at Brendon, whose expression shifts quickly from amused to confused as he catches sight of Ryan. 

‘What?’ he inquires, raising an eyebrow. 

‘Why didn’t you go get this prescription?’ Ryan asks, holding up the piece of paper. Brendon looks instantly uncomfortable. 

‘Look, it’s not what it looks like, right? I’m fine, I don’t need it.’

Ryan takes a step forward and examines the prescription again. ‘Brendon, if your therapist prescribed you these pills maybe you should go get them.’ 

‘I’m fine, Ryan, honestly, I’m not, like, I don’t need them.’ Brendon reaches out and grabs the paper out of the other man’s hand and scrunches it in his pocket. 

‘Brendon, please,’ Ryan pleads, stepping closer again, ‘taking antidepressants isn’t shameful or whatever. Loads of people take them, and they can be really helpful. When Dan took them it was like getting our friend back.’ He pauses when Brendon clenches his jaw and looks off to the side to study the sink. ‘I just want you to consider it, okay?’ 

‘Okay.’ Brendon nods and stares at his feet. Ryan quickly feels like a dick and closes the gap between them to wrap Brendon in a hug. 

‘Sorry, I don’t want to push you, it’s your decision. We just worry about you, yeah?’

Brendon nods and squeezes Ryan around the waist tightly. 

Evening rolls around quickly, they think, and they decide to watch a movie or two to just really block out the rest of the world. This decision sees an argument - well, Brendon maintains it was simply a discussion, but Ryan thinks maybe it was a bit more heated than that, Brendon did call him a “fucking dickhole” for claiming Thor: Dark World was not worth watching again after seeing it in 2013 - which ends with them watching Tobey Maguire’s Spider-Man because it’s the first thing Brendon sees on Netflix and he can’t be bothered to think anymore. 

They watch a few episodes of Community once the film has ended, talking over them for the most part and turning the TV off when they eventually get bored. 

When Brendon says he’s going to bed, he stands up and looks at Ryan with a mix of expectancy and apprehension. 

‘You, uh, you coming?’ he asks, when Ryan does not seem to be able to read the look. 

It takes a moment for him to respond, ‘Uh, um, well if you want me to, um… yeah, okay.’ 

‘I want you to,’ Brendon whispers, ‘I told you I hate it here alone.’ 

When Ryan wakes up the next morning, his chest pressed solidly against Brendon’s back, his arm wound around Brendon’s waist, and his nose in Brendon’s hair, he feels very calm and very serene. 

The second day passes hazily, hours stretching to accommodate their newfound peace there with each other. They’re comfortable and relaxed. 

It feels like a throwback to when they used to be together on tours or writing the album together, only with less arguing and more making out with one another. They barely get dressed, order in, watch awful soap operas and laugh at the forced dialogue, and talk about whatever they want to. This happens to encompass a lot of very random thoughts and opinions which incite laughter or teasing, as well as some very intense, personal confessions shared with their heads tilted together on pillows. 

Brendon forgets for a moment why he hates the house. 

On the third day, mid-morning, Brendon is in the kitchen attempting to cook scrambled eggs for them both. He had a whole rant again the previous evening about how he couldn’t cook, so now he’s desperately following a Gordon Ramsey tutorial, pausing every 10 seconds to scream ‘Wait, wait, wait, I’m not there yet’ and ‘I’m doubting your qualifications, Ramsey’. 

Ryan is on the hunt for some more clean clothes. He noted the first night that Brendon had mostly moved into the spare room, but he is convinced the man owns more than 4 t-shirts and two pairs of crumpled jeans, one pair of which he is currently wearing. So, he heads upstairs while Brendon is “cooking” to find some more clothes. 

The main bedroom is to the right of the staircase just down a short corridor, and the door is closed. He opens it gingerly, as if Sarah is going to be there and fly at him in a rage. The room is stale and silent, though. All the bedding has been stripped and half of the room feels terribly empty. Brendon’s knick-knacks are scattered over his dresser and bedside table, some of his shoes lined against his side of the wall, but Sarah’s side is bare. He can see why Brendon moved out of the room. Regardless, he opens the closet and stacks the clothes inside over his arm. 

He takes one last look at the room, which makes his heart ache for Brendon a bit, and shuts the door behind him. On his way back to the stairs, he spies one door slightly ajar and cannot abate his curiosity. Placing the clothes carefully down in a pile at the top of the staircase, he turns and pushes the door open more fully. It’s a home studio. Of course Brendon would have one and not tell him. 

He walks inside and gawps at the equipment in the room: an electric piano, a freestanding acoustic, 4 guitars hanging on the far wall, 2 basses on stands in the corner, a huge computer, microphones, headphones, top end audio interfaces, channel mixing boards, and a MIDI pad. Okay, so maybe Brendon was right that money  _ does  _ help. 

He takes another step and hears something crunch under his foot. Looking down, he sees it is a poster from their Pretty.Odd. tour. He looks around the floor and sees an array of band memorabilia and mementos. He kneels down beside the assortment and shuffles through them. There are photographs scattered throughout the pile and his eye catches on one in particular: him and Brendon, hugging on-stage. He flips the photo over, trying to discern when exactly it was taken. There’s no such information written anywhere on the back, so he examines it again. Judging by the absolute state of his hair he guesses it was around the beginning of their career - maybe 2005/2006? 

However, looking through the other pictures it’s clear they’re all from different years, as in one he’s wearing intricate looking makeup (how on earth did he ever manage to do that on himself, he wonders) clearly from 2005, and the one directly underneath it is of Spencer and Brendon unironically wearing matching vests which was more of a 2007 look, however misguided. He smiles at each picture he evaluates, old memories being brought to the fore of his mind. 

He’s lost in thought when Brendon barges into the room. 

‘Um, hey? I’ve been calling for like 5 minutes. I finally made the fucking eggs, they look awful.’ He stops and looks down at Ryan, squinting. ‘What are - oh god, I forgot these were everywhere. Look, I was very nostalgic, trying to find some inspiration, and-’ 

Ryan doesn’t say anything initially, just reaches up and grabs Brendon’s hand and pulls him down to sit beside him. 

‘Look at this one.’ Ryan says, passing the first one he picked up of the both of them. Brendon takes it gently and holds it close to his face. 

‘It’s nice.’ 

Ryan rolls his eyes and plucks it back out of Brendon’s hand. 

‘I really like it.’ 

Brendon looks at Ryan and smiles slightly. ‘Hold on,’ he says and gets up, Ryan watching him the whole time. He goes to his desk and pulls the group picture off the wall, bringing some of the paint with the tape, and then pulls out the top drawer of his desk and retrieves the photo of Ryan. He holds them tightly and sits back down beside Ryan. 

‘These are my favourites,’ he admits, handing them over. 

Ryan looks at the group selfie for a little while, chuckling when he first sees it and commenting about how he was offended at the time that they thought he had freaky long arms. The one of him on the bus he tilts his head at. 

‘Why this one?’ He inquires, turning to Brendon who simply shrugs. 

‘You look so pretty.’ Brendon’s gaze is fixed on the photo, so Ryan reaches out to touch his face and turn it so they’re looking at one another. He dips in and they kiss tentatively before Ryan pulls back.

‘Hey,’ he says, barely above a whisper, ‘I, um. What would you say if I said I thought I was falling in love with you?’ 

Brendon starts, shocked, and laughs in bewilderment before replying, ‘Um… I think I’d say that, uh, I was maybe falling for you too but didn’t want to jinx it.’ 

Ryan laughs and presses their foreheads together, Brendon can feel his heart beating a mile a minute but tries to remain still. 

‘Then I think I’m falling in love with you.’ 

Brendon bites his lips together to stop himself from squealing. 

‘When did it happen?’ Brendon asks, looking at Ryan’s face earnestly. 

‘It felt unavoidable.’ Ryan responds, like it’s the most obvious, most certain thing in the world. Brendon is gearing up to reply to this when Ryan pipes up again, sitting back and breaking their closeness. 

‘I want to help you finish your album, Spencer said you were getting hounded.’ 

This is not quite what Brendon had envisaged the immediate aftermath of his love declaration to look like, but he’ll take what he can get and simply nods. 

‘Yeah, sure, if you want to.’ 

Any other thought he might have had to expand on this agreement is wiped from his mind as Ryan leans back in to kiss him again. 

‘Why don’t we, um, take this downstairs?’ Ryan suggests after a minute or so, his cheeks already flushed. Brendon nods fervently. 

They stumble downstairs, neither concealing their eagerness, and practically run to the spare room - their room now - giggling and pausing only to steal kisses on their journey. 

Once through the bedroom doors, they stop and stare at each other, matching grins on their faces. 

‘So, um, have you… have you done this before?’ Brendon asks, feeling so completely like a sad teenager he wants to laugh. 

Ryan does laugh. ‘Um, yeah kinda.’ He admits. 

‘Only kinda?’ Brendon presses, raising an eyebrow. 

‘Well, I mean yes, I have. Nothing very serious but a few guys in the past few years.’ He pauses and rubs the back of his neck. ‘You?’ 

He shakes his head, ‘No, nothing like, um, like this.’ 

Ryan’s expression changes to something dark Brendon has never seen before; he licks his lips. 

‘Never?’ Ryan asks, tilting his head. 

Brendon just shakes his head, ‘No, never.’ Ryan is silent and Brendon’s nerves force him to fill the gap. ‘You, uh, you excited to be the first to fuck this virginal ass?’ he jokes, and thankfully Ryan smiles at him. 

‘Not exactly. More excited to be the first person you’ve trusted to, erm, fuck your virginal ass.’ 

There is a moment before they move, it feels like time has stopped and the air is electric. Ryan makes the first move, striding across the floor and grabbing Brendon roughly by the hips, pulling him close, so close, and pressing their lips together firmly. Their mouths slide together perfectly, and Ryan can’t resist dipping his tongue into Brendon’s mouth, twining it with Brendon’s possessively. 

He pulls away minutely to pant, ‘Do you have condoms down here?’ 

Brendon shakes his head, ‘Upstairs, in the bottom drawer of my, uh, bedside table.’ 

‘Ok,’ Ryan nods, ‘stay here, I’ll be right back.’ 

Ryan stands for another moment, and grins a little crazily before planting a quick kiss on Brendon’s lips and scampering out of the room. He watches the door open fully and bounce back once it’s hit the dresser behind it, swinging mostly closed. He can’t stop smiling, and runs a hand through his hair just for something to do with his hands. 

He looks around the room absentmindedly, eyes skimming over the evidence of their happy coexistence. He sighs, still smiling, and pulls his t-shirt off over his head, throwing it somewhere off to the side and clambering onto the bed to wait. 

He hears Ryan before he sees him, his slow, thoughtful steps coming towards the door. His heart is racing with arousal and anxiety in a hurricane of excitement, and he can hear his blood pumping in his ears. 

Ryan pushes the door open slowly and steps into the room radiating a calm power Brendon is equally intrigued by and terrified of. His eyes fall onto where Brendon is lying on the bed, raised up on his elbows, shirtless. 

‘Fuck,’ he growls, eyes raking over Brendon’s body. 

‘I was hoping we would, yeah,’ Brendon replies, smirking, his stomach dropping when Ryan locks eyes with him and clenches his jaw. 

‘Oh we will.’ Ryan assures, walking around the side of the bed to put the condoms and lube on the dresser. Then he reaches over his shoulder and pulls his shirt forward over his head and off, where he balls it up in his hands and throws it to the floor. Brendon watches his every movement hungrily, not bothering to be ashamed of how turned on he is by this scenario. 

Ryan moves back to the foot of the bed and studies Brendon once more. Then he reaches down and starts unbuckling his belt, holding eye contact. 

‘Take off your pants.’ He commands, unbuttoning his jeans and watching Brendon nod and lift his hips to pull his sweatpants off and throw them off into the void beyond the bed. His erection pushes proudly against the fabric of his underwear and Ryan raises an eyebrow at it, though he isn’t in much of a position to comment, his own dick straining inside his - well they’re technically Brendon’s - boxers. Brendon stares at him, his chest rising and falling quickly, each outward breath exposing the toned muscles of his stomach. 

In one swift motion, Ryan takes the final step to the edge of the bed and climbs on, moving over Brendon so they touch from chest to groin. Brendon pulls his legs up to bracket Ryan better, his arms around Ryan’s neck, while Ryan grips his left thigh tightly, his right elbow bearing most of his weight beside Brendon’s shoulder. They kiss passionately, breathing roughly against each other, Brendon stopping only to gasp and moan as Ryan grinds against him. 

‘Sh-shit that’s, ah, so good,’ he groans, rolling his hips up and tipping his head back against the pillow. Ryan bites his neck and smiles. 

‘We’re not even at the good part yet, babe.’ 

Ryan leans back for one more intense kiss before pushing up onto his knees and stroking delicately down Brendon’s stomach, stopping on the elastic waistband of his underwear and fiddling with it. He doesn’t pull them down though, instead smoothing his hands down Brendon’s hip creases and around to his ass, quickly squeezing then moving back around his thighs and letting one hand graze over the significant bulge in front of him. Only then, when Brendon has reprimanded him for ‘being an insane fucking tease’, does he remove the boxers, relishing the way Brendon’s abs move as he lifts his ass up off the bed to help Ryan’s progress. He stops to admire the man splayed out in front of him: the darkness of his eyes, which are already half closed, his smooth skin, the curves of his body, his hard cock bouncing a little against his lower stomach, his strong legs braced against the mattress. 

‘Your turn?’ Brendon asks hopefully, that mischievous, enticing grin on his face. 

Ryan simply raises an eyebrow and says, ‘What, you desperate or something?’ 

Brendon bites his lip and smirks, ‘Or something.’

He chuckles but lifts his boxers over his erection and down his legs. He has to shuffle forward a bit to get them down his knees, and flicks them off his feet. Brendon’s eyes head straight for his cock, which is now red and standing to attention. He instinctively reaches down to it to stroke several times and he thinks Brendon might lick his lips; all in good time. 

‘So,’ Brendon begins, eyes flickering between Ryan and his dick, ‘you’re gonna, like, put that in me?’ 

Ryan climbs back over Brendon’s body, hovering so he can lightly press their erections together and get Brendon to close his eyes in fleeting bliss, and so they can speak face-to-face. 

‘Only if you want me to. First I want to blow you, and then finger you, and then I can fuck you. Is that okay?’ He can hear Brendon’s breath catch and the shaky exhale at his admission but doesn’t move until he nods softly. 

‘Yeah that sounds okay.’ Brendon whispers, and Ryan moves forward to kiss him gently. 

‘Okay. If you want me to stop just tell me, yeah? As soon as you say stop, I stop.’ 

‘Yeah, okay. I say stop you stop.’ 

‘Yes. Good. Okay, now I’m going to blow you, all right?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

Ryan ducks down to kiss Brendon’s neck, ‘What do you say?’ 

Brendon swallows. ‘Yes, please.’ 

He bites at the place he just kissed and smiles, then pushes himself back on the bed, still on his knees, kissing down Brendon’s chest, stomach, moving side to side to kiss his hip bones, then following the trail of dark hair down, down, down, until his chin hits the crown of Brendon’s erection. He rearranges himself so he is more comfortably placed between Brendon’s legs and kisses right next to the base of his shaft. 

‘Ryan, please,’ Brendon pleads breathlessly from above him. 

‘What do you want?’ he asks, mouthing away from Brendon’s leaking cock and down his thigh. 

‘I, fuck Ryan, I want you to fucking touch me!’ 

The raggedness of his voice is so exhilarating, and Ryan considers not touching him, just to see how far the voice can go, but Brendon starts squirming and reaching down to pull at his hair so he decides he’s far gone enough. 

He pushes himself up slightly so he can wrap his left arm under Brendon’s leg to support himself. 

‘Ryan, I swear to god if you don’t-’ Brendon’s bitching gets cut off when Ryan curls his hand around his cock and lowers his mouth over the wet head, pressing his tongue against the hot skin and going down an inch or so before closing his lips to suck hungrily upwards and off. 

‘Fu- _ uh _ -uck,’ Brendon moans, and Ryan can feel the mattress bounce slightly as Brendon drops his head and shoulders down onto it. 

He takes more of Brendon into his mouth on each journey down, his hand methodically stroking where his lips don’t reach. He maintains a steady rhythm, taking his time, coating Brendon’s hard cock in his saliva so the slide is easier, so that when he takes him to the hilt - which makes Brendon choke out a filthy moan - he can move his free hand to fondle Brendon’s tight balls, rolling his fingers over them expertly. 

‘Holy fucking Jesus that feels amazing,’ 

Ryan simply hums, continuing his movements for several more seconds, then sucking hard to the top of Brendon’s dick and licking in circles around the crown before lowering his head to lick slowly from balls to tip and suck him down once more. 

Brendon continues spouting nonsense revolving mostly around Ryan and his ‘ _ mouth _ , holy fuck’ while Ryan blows him, and once the sentences have become quiet and more slurred, he removes his mouth from Brendon’s cock and sits up. Their eyes meet, both dark and tempting, Brendon can’t remember a time when someone looked at him like that, with that much pure want. 

‘You still okay with this?’ Ryan asks, running his hands absentmindedly up and down Brendon’s thighs. 

Brendon nods, ‘Oh my god, yes, please, Ryan, please.’

Ryan smiles and climbs forwards to press their mouths together again, intoxicating each other, and breaks away only to reach over to the bedside table and grab the condoms and lube he put there. He leans back to kiss Brendon again, slowly, they have time and he wants to make the most of this. He kisses down Brendon’s neck, his chest, taking a moment to lick around a nipple, tracing down his ribs, down to his navel, and back to his cock, now glistening with pre-come, which he licks off as he sucks in the head again. 

Brendon is lost in the touch, the way Ryan’s hands skitter over his skin, it feels like he’s on fire. He tries to concentrate on what Ryan’s doing but it’s so hard when his brain is foggy with arousal and fucking  _ yearning _ for the man sitting in front of him. He didn’t know he could need someone so badly. He distantly hears the lube bottle opening, his eyes are closed in ecstasy and overstimulation, and the next moment he has Ryan’s mouth on his dick and a wet finger pressing at his hole. Of course, somewhere in his brain he is concerned that this is going to hurt, but Ryan was right: he does trust him to do this. He’s kissed boys before, even once got a hasty handjob from some kid at a party in Vegas, but this is more intimate for him. He has been lulled into a security with heterosexuality his whole life; if it doesn’t mean anything it doesn’t count. This means something, this is significant for him, and there’s no one else he’d rather explore with. 

By this point, Ryan has worked his index finger into him, nothing Sarah hadn’t done at some point to get him to react or concentrate or whatever else she may have tried. His finger moves with meaning, different to Sarah’s seemingly random prodding, moving in and out with the rhythm of his mouth up and down his cock. He moans raggedly, reaching his hand down to Ryan’s head to anchor himself; it feels so good. 

‘More, please,’ he begs, surprised as the words leave his mouth but not mad about it. Ryan hums around a mouthful of cock and it feels amazing. Soon enough, another wet fingertip is pressed alongside the first and twisted devilishly, rubbing up against his prostate with every movement, making him squirm and moan. Ryan works in his third finger without prompt, moving slowly to ensure Brendon can accommodate the stretch, simultaneously taking his balls into his mouth to distract him from any discomfort. Brendon can only make animalistic noises, not sure anymore whether it is painful or pleasurable, both mixing delightfully in the middle. 

‘Okay, I’m going to move you now so I can get you more comfortable.’ Ryan says hoarsely, pulling his fingers out, watching Brendon’s mouth drop open in a soundless moan. He knows he’s too far under to do more than follow orders; this is not an issue for Ryan, he likes to dominate. 

‘I need you on your hands and knees, okay?’ 

Brendon doesn’t fully register this order, so Ryan pulls at his hips to roll him over, which he manages, and then navigates him up on his knees, a pillow pulled under his chest, and hands braced against the mattress. 

Ryan takes the opportunity to open the condom and roll it over his throbbing, hard cock, the thought of fucking the man in front of him almost overwhelming. He woke up the last two nights with his cock hard and pressing against Brendon’s ass: even his unconscious brain wanted them to fuck. He runs his hands over Brendon’s ass and back, murmuring reassurances and affirmations. Then, he traces a thumb down over his hole and pushes it in, shivering at the noise Brendon emits. 

‘Ryan, c’mon, I want you,’ he gasps, pushing back onto the digit. 

‘Okay,’ Ryan acquiesces, dribbling a bit more lube onto his dick to try to make the experience as comfortable as possible for Brendon. He can’t wait any longer as he grips Brendon’s hips tightly and rubs the tip of his cock over the tight ring of muscle, pressing experimentally to gauge Brendon’s reaction, which is to curse and fall onto his elbows (he was right to place the pillow there). ‘It’s okay baby, you’re doing great.’ He assures as he pushes forward, one hand moving to Brendon’s back as the crown of his dick breaches Brendon’s entrance, eliciting a string of profanities and a groan. He pushes forward slowly, leaning forward to kiss Brendon’s shoulder blade and murmur more sweet nothings. As he moves further in, Brendon shudders and curses again, but takes Ryan’s cock without much verbal resistance. 

‘Ah, you feel so big, this is so weird, that feels good,’ He babbles, his hands clenching in the sheets and his eyes screwed tightly shut, an attempt to ignore the burning stretch of the dick up his ass and concentrate on the steady sparks of pleasure radiating through his body. 

‘Fuck, Brendon, you feel amazing.’ Ryan reciprocates, holding still to let him adjust. ‘You good?’ 

Brendon breathes deeply into the back of his hand, he’s not sure he has words to describe quite how he’s feeling right now, but, sure, good will work. ‘Yeah, good, I just, fuck shit, I think I need you to fucking move, please.’ 

Ryan nods, collecting himself, he is not quite convinced he’ll be able to keep it together if he starts moving. The tight grip of Brendon surrounding him completely, the expanse of warm, soft skin in front of him, how he hasn’t had sex with someone he had such strong feelings for in a very long time. 

‘Yeah, okay, moving now.’ He takes a breath and pulls out almost the whole way, exhaling shakily, then pushes back in a little quicker, and Brendon gasps. ‘We’re moving,’ he whispers, more to himself, as he repeats the motion again, and again. 

Brendon is trying hard not to completely fall apart, this is so ridiculously far removed from anything he’s ever experienced before but he is kind of loving it, despite the flashes of pain he is trying to ignore. Ryan starts moving a little quicker, clearly not able to contain himself, and so he reaches down and starts jerking himself in time with Ryan’s thrusts. He is incredibly turned on. 

Ryan feels sweat drip down his temple and his breathing feels so laboured. He leans back over Brendon, ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he hums, enjoying the way Brendon pushes his head back into him like a cat. Then he sees how Brendon’s arm - the one not preoccupied with his dick - is shaking and he moves back into an upright position and pulls out. 

Brendon makes a surprised squeaking noise.

‘What are you doing?’ 

‘Turn over, I want to see you.’ 

Brendon obeys, toppling over now he’s been given the opportunity, and Ryan waits until he’s settled before moving back between his legs, which are bent over his stomach, and lining himself up. Brendon grips his shoulders painfully as he pushes back in, both of them moaning with the action and the mind-numbing heat that comes with it. 

‘Jesus Christ, Bren, do you know what you do to me?’

Brendon shakes his head and pulls Ryan’s hair, opening his mouth in ecstasy. Ryan speeds up, snapping his hips forward faster and more carelessly, feeling the edges of clarity blur and disappear. Brendon hooks one leg over Ryan’s waist, pulling him in with his heel, welcoming him deeper, harder, faster, and Ryan can’t help but oblige him. 

They kiss heatedly, desperately, as Ryan fills Brendon up in a way he cannot name and never wants to forget. Ryan eventually finds the presence of mind to reach between them and start jerking him off, sloppily and roughly, but Brendon doesn’t seem to mind, groaning low and guttural, rolling his hips in time with every thrust and upstroke, wringing every ounce of pleasure out of the experience. 

‘I’m, fuck, Ryan, I’m gonna come,’ Brendon whines, arching his back as if to emphasise his point. Ryan just nods and speeds his thrusts, slamming into Brendon’s ass with no remorse. ‘Ryan, fuck.’ He moans once more, then he gasps sharply, eyes widening, as he comes all over his stomach and Ryan’s hand. 

Ryan doesn’t let up as Brendon’s expression slacks minutely, pumping energetically but erratically as his own orgasm blooms inside him, turning his blood to static as he tightens ready for release. 

‘Come for me, babe,’ Brendon whispers, running his hands down Ryan’s sides.

Since when could he refuse Brendon? He wonders this as a blinding light overcomes him and he empties himself into the condom, his hips stuttering to a stop. 

They lie still for a moment, tangled together, their mouths meeting slowly but greedily, until Ryan pushes up onto his hands and pulls out. Brendon winces but laughs. 

‘Who’d have thought you’d end up being a literal pain in my ass, eh?’

Ryan can’t help but laugh as he removes the condom and throws it towards where he thinks a trash can is. He flops down onto the bed beside Brendon and wraps his arms around him, caressing the skin he has access to reverently. 

‘That was amazing, by the way. You’re amazing.’ Ryan says, pressing a kiss to Brendon’s temple. 

‘Ha, thank you. It was weird, and it hurts now, but it felt really good. You looked so hot.’ Brendon laughs, shifting closer into Ryan’s embrace.

‘Well, I am mainly famous for my sex appeal, you know.’ 

Brendon rolls his eyes, ‘Fuck off, Ross, the kids came for me.’

‘Who can blame them.’ Ryan jokes, feeling Brendon’s laugh in his own chest as the vibrations travel between them. Ryan hugs him closer and breathes in the scent of him; sweat and sex and his shampoo, it’s a heady mix he thinks he could get addicted to. 

The room is hot and stuffy, Brendon’s skin feels clammy and his hair is damp, he feels a little freer and he curls a little tighter into Ryan’s chest. 

Then, he doesn’t know what happens, what dial is turned inside him, but his heart starts to ache, his stomach twists, and he feels distinctly restless. He tries to focus on where his skin is pressed against Ryan’s, tries to ground himself like Joanne told him to do if he felt anxious. It doesn’t work, he just feels like he is suffocating, like air isn’t getting into his body. So he pulls away and turns onto his back, trying to fill his lungs with oxygen, but it, fuck, it isn’t working. His chest feels like it’s in a vice. 

‘Brendon? Are you all right?’ Ryan asks, tone edging into concern. 

He nods but squeezes his eyes tightly shut and presses a hand onto his forehead, trying desperately to pull himself together and not pass out or throw up or die. 

‘Brendon, tell me what’s wrong, what’s happening?’ Ryan presses, pushing himself up onto his elbow. 

‘I can’t,’ he chokes out, shaking his head vehemently, eyes still pressed closed, ‘this is all… it’s you, I-’ 

‘Me what?’ Ryan interrupts, gently stroking Brendon’s shoulder. 

‘You, I don’t know, I,’ he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, ‘I can’t fucking  _ breathe _ ,’

Ryan is on him in a second, pulling him up into a sitting position and rubbing soothing circles into his back and pressing his forehead above Brendon’s ear to whisper: ‘Breathe with me, come on, in… and out… you got this just in… and out…’ 

He never thought breathing could be a team effort, but he does manage to calm down, his brain hyperfocusing on Ryan’s voice in his ear, the command to breathe in then out. Ryan doesn’t move away from him much even when he starts breathing normally on his own again, just stays pressed against him. 

‘Sorry,’ he finally manages, prying his fingers off Ryan’s arm - he didn’t even realise he was holding him let alone so hard as to leave dark crescent moon indents. 

‘Hey, you have no reason to apologise, I just want to know you’re okay.’ 

His heart aches for a new reason, now, and he wants to confide in Ryan how he’s feeling, hopefully this time without the panic attack. 

‘Okay, I, phew, okay,’ 

‘Take your time,’ Ryan soothes, holding him a little looser but remaining close. 

‘You, you make everything feel like it’s normal, like it’s all normal, but, you know,  _ clearly _ ,’ he gestures at himself and rolls his eyes, ‘it isn’t, and I don’t know how to fit in normal when I feel like I’m dying sometimes; I don’t understand how I’m meant to be normal again.’ 

Ryan stays quiet, digesting the words and trying to give Brendon time to think out loud and figure out his point. 

He huffs, ‘When we talk, I feel like I have a lifeline, for a long time you were the only real thing, the only thing I… I don’t have a word for it, but you were  _ it _ . But… I don’t know, maybe the distance made it easier to hold onto, because since you’ve been here I can, urgh, like, put you in perspective in my life and it kind of feels like you’re a tiny candle in a dark ass cave but if I sit close enough I can convince myself there’s no darkness.’ He pauses, breathing deeply, keeping the panic away. ‘My marriage is over, I go on stage alone, I have nothing to write, and it just… the things I thought made me  **me** are gone, and I don’t know how to be someone when those things don’t define me.’ He manages to open his eyes and venture a glance at Ryan, who looks back at him with no pretense, who doesn’t look like he pities him or thinks he’s insane; who looks at him like… like that made sense. 

‘I just… I want this to be real and I want to be with you, but I want it to be  _ me _ , not… not whoever I am right now.’ He can feel twin tears run from his eyes and he closes them against the world again. 

Ryan reaches out and wipes the teartrack closest to him. 

‘Well, I want this to be real too, and I want to be with you, all versions of you. The you I met when we were teenagers, the you who would sneak into clubs with me, the you who sweat too much on stage, the you who kept trying to kiss me and couldn’t take a hint; the you who teased Spencer or sang with Jon, the you who wouldn’t compromise his vision or the music, the you who I tried so hard to forget, the you who brightens my day now. And, yeah, that includes the you who is starting fresh, the you who is brave enough to get up on stage every night, the you who is having a hard time now. Just  _ you _ , Brendon, and we can do this together, so that you can feel like all those yous again.’ He pulls Brendon closer then, holding him tightly. ‘It’s  _ you _ , and everything that comes with you. Always has been.’ 

And Brendon can’t help but believe him. Instead of replying, he turns towards Ryan and presses his head into his chest, his hands pressing against his ribs. 

‘I got you, B.’ He whispers, and he moves them so they’re lying more comfortably, Brendon’s head on Ryan’s chest so he can hear the steady, strong beat of his heart. He falls asleep to the sound of Ryan’s heart beating, and he believes him. 

* * *

_ ‘There is no way I could go back now: There’s no way I could not believe that love is the meaning of life.’ _

* * *

Brendon is unsure he’s ever seen Pete look so relieved as when he turns up to the studio for his allotted time. Everyone had been sure he’d bail. Well, fuck them. 

So he’d been sort of MIA for, what? A month? Two? Okay, four, but, that’s not even that long. He’d needed the time and, honestly, what is Pete’s issue anyway? In that time he managed to turn out an album didn’t he? 

It had been an eventful four months, he’d finally gone and gotten those antidepressants, which Ryan hadn’t commented on outright immediately, but had given him an enthusiastic and encouraging smile when he saw him taking them. It had made Brendon’s insides feel fizzy. 

Except then they’d initially made him insanely tired which they read up on online and so he started taking them in the evening, which helped. But then they started making him hyperactive; there were days when he couldn’t stand still for more than 10 seconds and he kept going on runs to the point where Ryan took him back to the doctor and they’d reduced his dosage. 

He commented once that it was so strange, feeling so happy all the time, and he asked Ryan whether that was how his life felt, like he was always so happy. Ryan had calmly explained that he was so glad Brendon was feeling better, but that that constant ecstasy would diminish eventually when his brain evened out. It was a tricky transition, but they made it through and Brendon had started feeling like a real person again. 

‘I told you I’d make it, Pete. It’s a little insulting you don’t trust me.’ 

Pete sighs and sends him a pointed look. ‘I’m sorry, okay, I just… it’s not so much about you not making it as you, you know,’ Pete stops and Brendon raises an eyebrow at him.

‘Me what?’ 

Pete gestures to him vaguely, ‘Being all… fine and stuff.’ Brendon scoffs and reaches for the studio door. ‘It’s just a surprise is all!’ Pete says in an attempt to backtrack. 

Surprises had been going around it seemed. Brendon had been surprised when Ryan asked him out on a real date, and even more so when they’d ended up at The Wiltern to see some random act. Brendon hadn’t understood why the hell he’d been taken to some random venue next to Koreatown to see an act he didn’t know, until he stepped inside and the realisation hit him like a truck. He had turned to Ryan wide-eyed and hugged him. The Wiltern was where they’d played their first California show for the Nintendo Fusion Tour back in 2005, where they’d taken that picture of him and Ryan hugging onstage. He couldn’t believe Ryan had remembered. 

Their relationship had only blossomed since then, though it was tentative and included a lot of what Brendon fondly referred to as ‘Getting to know each other: Expert edition’, as one had to recall information they’d been told over 10 years ago to fully understand a new story from 10 months ago. 

Unfortunately, the news of their dalliance didn’t stay quiet for as long as Brendon would have liked. Someone snapped a picture of them holding hands on a date out somewhere in Malibu and it had gone viral. Spencer had asked him if they were okay, and offered to field calls for them and keep Pete off their backs. He did an amazing job of it. 

‘You know I didn’t do it alone.’ Brendon reminds Pete as he pulls the door open. 

‘I know, I know, got your whole… boyfriend thing going on, huh?’

‘Yeah, the whole boyfriend thing. Damn, man, how old  _ are _ you?’ 

Pete shoots him a glare, ‘Not that old you son of a bitch. I could still take you in a fight.’ 

‘I’d like to see you try.’ Ryan interjects, having retrieved their stuff from the car and caught up to them. Brendon smiles at him and Pete looks disgruntled, though he remembers where he is and that finally,  _ finally _ , they have an album to record so he perks up. 

‘Ah, my guardian angel,’ Brendon croons obnoxiously and pecks Ryan’s cheek. 

‘You kidding?’ objects Pete. ‘He got you to write a whole album and then come to the studio to record it. He’s  _ my _ guardian angel.’ 

Ryan had in fact been the driving force behind Brendon’s album, at first claiming that music therapy would be a good way to get Brendon eased in and feeling creative again. It was strangely comforting being back in a music-writing setting with each other, it felt familiar and fluid; much less tense than Brendon remembered it being from the days of Pretty. Odd. 

One odd benefit of fucking Ryan Ross, Brendon soon came to realise, was that the man owned at least 100 notebooks which he left haphazardly around whatever space he occupied. This meant whenever inspiration struck, Brendon could simply write down his thoughts and not stress about losing them later. Ryan was also a strong editor, he helped refine Brendon’s thoughts as well as being entirely honest about whether something worked or not, whether it flowed right. And, since it wasn’t his band anymore, he had no vested interest in its image, only in the happiness of its frontman. 

‘We going in or what?’ Ryan asks, shifting one of the bags on his shoulder. Brendon holds the door wide and lets Pete file in first before motioning for Ryan to follow. Ryan momentarily protests, the kid’s a gentleman, but eventually acquiesces and walks through the door. 

‘Such a good view…’ Brendon mutters, eyeing up his boyfriend’s backside. 

‘Hey, if you’re gonna objectify me can you at least wait until I have a hand spare to wipe that smirk off your face with?’ Ryan replies, speaking over his shoulder and playfully glaring at Brendon, who doesn’t seem the least bit phased, just waggles his eyebrows suggestively and continues walking to their recording space. 

Since most of the tracks were written and had rough demos by the time they made it to the studio, recording the album takes only a month, and mixing another month on top of that. Brendon is ecstatic with the result: the songs sound incredible and he can’t wait to share them with the world. Especially track 4: ‘Call Me Normal’, the first song Ryan wrote with him and which Brendon had managed to get him to sing on despite his initial resistance. It’s a beautiful song about their journeys, individual and together, and Brendon wants to listen to it forever.

He does insist that ‘Call Me Normal’ be the first single to promote the album, and the label is just so happy he’s putting out new music they are quick to agree. 

It turns out to be a great idea, when the single gets released and stays at number 1 in the charts for 10 weeks and in the top 50 for another 15. 

Pete contacts them claiming to be inundated with requests for interviews about the collaboration, their relationship, Panic’s future, what it all means. 

Brendon refuses them all, and says this time he’s not even going to tweet about it. 

* * *

_ We have reached out for a comment from Brendon Urie and Ryan Ross but both declined to be interviewed at this time.  _


End file.
